


Hunting the Unicorn

by CrossoverQueen (Sharysa), Sharysa



Series: Griffin Slayer [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, Firefly, Game of Thrones (TV), Glee, Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe, Character Study, Drama, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Original Character(s), Psychological Trauma, Romance, Sexual Assault, Stalking, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-22
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:45:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 92,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharysa/pseuds/CrossoverQueen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharysa/pseuds/Sharysa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <br/>
    <img/>
    <br/>
  </p>
</div><i>"Here is there, and high is low; all may be undone.  What is true, no two men know; what is gone is gone."</i><p>Fairy tales are harder to live through than you'd think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Unicorn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my explanation for the plot-hole of Kurt's sudden characterization switch in "Sexy." People complained that Kurt had no problem with this in Season One and shouldn't have had a problem singing "Animal," but someone also mentioned that "Sexy" takes place after "Never Been Kissed," when Kurt was getting all but sexually harassed by Karofsky.
> 
> That made a lot of sense, so I wrote this. The title, summary, and excerpts are from The Last Unicorn by Peter S. Beagle. I do not own The Last Unicorn or Glee - they are the properties of Peter S. Beagle and Ryan Murphy, respectively.
> 
> The story starts just after Never Been Kissed and goes all the way to Night Of Neglect. It will have around three or four parts.
> 
>  **Warning: This story deals with implicit depression, PTSD, and fear of sexual assault in later chapters. Readers who have experienced such things should continue with caution, if at all.**
> 
> * * *

__  
**The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone.**  


Kurt hates Karofsky for so many reasons lately.

Before the Incident (he refuses to call it anything else, because then he starts to feel dangerously teary and that is _bad_ for his complexion because he gets all red and stuffy), he was as close to normal as an openly gay kid in Lima could be. He's had crushes, he daydreamed about celebrities, and once in a while those _other_ dreams would sneak up on him like a sledgehammer. A wet, sexy sledgehammer with messy hair and... okay, that's not the _best_ metaphor.

Kurt almost wishes that Karofsky was tossing him in the dumpster again and giving him slushies to the face, because those things were Before The Incident. Those things he's spent years dealing with, so he can deal with them for two more years before he _finally_ gets out of Lima. But now Kurt can feel Karofsky tracking him in the hallways, staring at him with laser-vision through the crowds and making weird, not-homophobic-enough comments that feel like a twisted version of _flirting_.

He sticks with Finn or the other Glee members as much as possible, but even they can't help with the shudder that trickles down his spine when he spots Karofsky. It doesn't matter how far away the jock is-three feet away, on the other side of campus, driving off in his car - it is all the same and Kurt can't imagine how he can keep walking when his stomach is either shaking itself to pieces or an icy lump.

Sometimes he gets a "courage" text from Blaine right on cue, or he remembers one from earlier, and sometimes it helps. But other times it doesn't, and it's then that he feels utterly, terribly alone.

* * *

__  
**From the first time she imagined leaving her forest, she could not stand in one place without wanting to be somewhere else. [...] She said no, and yes, and no again, day and night, and for the first time she began to feel the minutes crawling over her like worms.**  


He really can't focus on English or the assignment they've been given today - he'll just ask Rachel or Mercedes later. Mercedes always has his back, and Rachel is as dedicated about the rest of school (neurotic, more like) as she is about glee.

Come lunch, he plunks his bag down by his seat and takes his phone out to dial Blaine's number. Six rings later, just when Kurt is about to give up and try again later: _"Yeah, sorry about that, Kurt - I just put my iPhone on shuffle, so I only realized I was getting a call when it stopped after the first verse."_

Kurt smiles in spite of himself. "Were you singing along?"

_"It's physically impossible for me to **not** sing along to New Radicals."_ For someone who has the top-forty chart memorized, Blaine's taste in music is all over the place. _"So, what's up?"_

"Oh... nothing much." Mercedes is too busy talking with Tina to catch the too-casual tone in Kurt's voice, but it doesn't fool Blaine. Kurt is pretty sure Blaine can see him bite his lip in uncertainty.

_"Karofsky at his old tricks again?"_

"I wish." And he does, and his voice is caught between bitterness and fear as he gets up. "Mercedes, can you watch my stuff? I'm heading to the bathroom for a minute."

Mercedes nods and tugs his bag over to hers.

* * *

_"So what's he up to now?"_ Blaine asks as Kurt heaves open the bathroom door and lets it close behind him. _"You're not getting **hurt** , are you? Kurt, just because I told you to tough it out doesn't mean you shouldn't get help -"_

"No, no, I'm fine!" He assures, and winces at how false it sounds. "Don't worry. It's just..."

_He is one creepy phone call away from stalking me. Sometimes he tries to_ _ **flirt,**_ _dear god, and I don't know which is worse so now I can't even look at him without panicking._ These things rush through his head in a stampede; he quashes them with a deep, if shaky breath, then shakes his head even though Blaine can't see. "Okay, I'm not hurt. But... I'm not fine, either."

_"You want me to come over this weekend?"_

_" **Yes!** "_ It is out before he can stop it, his cracked voice echoing in the deserted bathroom, and he feels something hot run down his face. Oh, this isn't _happening_... He rips a sheet of paper towel from the dispenser as fast as he can while gripping the phone like a vice, but just like that word, the pent-up tears of frustration and loneliness escape him with a fury; he cannot rein them in anymore. He leans against the stall door for support, and wishes for a moment that it was Blaine.

_"Holy fuck, Kurt - are you **okay**?"_ It takes one hell of a shock for Blaine to forget his composure enough to curse, and an even bigger one for him to ask a stupid question like "are you okay?" after hearing someone start crying over the phone. If Kurt wasn't having an emotional breakdown, he would be filing this away for blackmail _so fast_.

_"No!"_ It is misery that escapes into his voice now. As much as it hurts to confirm everything that's been happening over the past few weeks with just one word, he's also relieved because he can finally say some form of what's been raging in his head. "No, Blaine - _I am_ _ **not**_ _okay!_ "

_I'm being all but stalked by a self-hating, closeted bigot who can't decide whether he hates my existence or has repressed feelings for me and no one, **no one** notices! Why not, pray tell? Because Karofsky said he'd kill me and I **really** don't want to take my chances! Or worse - I might lose the few people who make my life bearable instead, and if that happens I might just take a nap in my car with the engine on!_

Blaine is very, very quiet - did Kurt say everything out loud? - before clearing his throat and talking again. _"I'm coming today. Where do you want to meet up?"_

He wants to say that he'll go to Dalton instead. That they'll meet at the Lima Bean, Breadstix, Starbucks, some place where he can huddle over a drink to pretend his watery eyes and shaky voice are from drinking too-hot coffee. And again he is too spent to stop himself from saying, "Come to McKinley - I'll tell you how to get to my place."

_"I'll be there when your classes end. Hold up, all right?"_

Kurt's phone reads 12:28 PM, changing to 12:29 as he hangs up. Three hours and thirty-one more minutes till Blaine comes. Lunch is over in thirty-one minutes, but he feels even less like eating than he did before-

"Catch you at practice later!"

Kurt hears _his_ voice through the door and bolts into the stall, the dropped paper towels blending perfectly in with the overflowing trashcan's contents. He locks it for a semblance of security and impulsively, despite the inherent danger to his fifty-three-dollar boots, steps onto the toilet rim to further conceal himself. He braces his arms against the flimsy gray walls, hoping desperately that they don't give way or shake and reveal his presence. Also that he doesn't fall into the toilet; even though it's one of the cleaner ones, it would be _really_ bad for his boots.

But Karofsky is in and out after forty-two seconds, not even stopping to wash his hands ( _ewwww_ ). Kurt steps down with immense gratitude when the door swings shut a second time.

Then he realizes he's acting like someone in a horror movie, and he feels like crying again.

* * *

"What took you so long, Kurt?" Mercedes is smirking as he sits down and about to mention Blaine, but the joke dies as she catches sight of reddened eyes and slightly blotchy skin. "What's up?"

"I had to spend fifteen minutes waiting in line to use a _school bathroom,_ Mercedes. What do you think?"

She doesn't really buy it, of course, but she goes along with a "we'll talk later" expression to show it. "Ugh, no _wonder_. Hope you didn't have to wait _inside_."

"Unfortunately, I did." He gets lunch out - a ham sandwich and organic pomegranate juice - and takes a bite. It takes far too much effort to chew, and he chokes half of it down under Mercedes' concerned gaze.

It feels like ash in his mouth.


	2. The Midnight Carnival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm hoping for this to be three-ish chapters, but I won't mind if it turns out as six or seven instead. My original plan was to draw parallels between The Last Unicorn's characters and Glee's characters (Kurt as the unicorn/Amalthea, Karofsky as the Red Bull/Haggard, and Blaine as Lir would have been the main three), but then the episodes started lining up with certain parts of TLU's plot. It's starting to get too intense for me to finish over two or three weeks like I planned.

__  
**"Still I have read, or heard it sung,  
That unicorns when time was young, **   


__  
**Could tell the difference 'twixt the two-  
The false shining and the true, **   


__  
**The lips' laugh and the heart's rue."**   


Kurt spends a few minutes in Glee Club before leaving, because as much as he wants to go home with Blaine, he doesn't like the thought of missing _all_ his time with the twelve people who actually care about him. Then he gives the excuse that he got a call from his dad earlier about a car he needs help with; Mr. Schue nods and waves him off, and Mercedes gives him her "you will call me today, or I will _cut_ you" expression. Typically, they are the only two who even notice he's leaving.

Aside from Brittany, but everyone's too confused after her story about a notebook and her cat (she'd misheard _something_ Schue said) to notice when she starts talking to him. "So Kurt, I went to the bathroom at lunch and I think I saw you in there."

"Uh..." Okay, he really doesn't blame himself for getting blindsided by the fact that Brittany may have forgotten how to read the "BOYS" and "GIRLS" signs on the doors. And knowing Brittany "Lost A Wheelchair" Pierce, she _has_.

"Britt-Britt, we've been through this before: The boys' bathroom has a boy in pants on the door, and the girls' bathroom has a girl in a dress on the door. But just because _you're_ wearing pants doesn't mean you can use the boys' bathroom," Santana tells her patiently, and Kurt takes a glance at the blonde - Brittany is indeed wearing periwinkle-blue skinny jeans.

 _"Really?"_ Only Brittany could be genuinely shocked at such a revelation. Or need that revelation at all, really. "But what about Kurt? He's an honorary girl."

" _Honorary_. His plumbing's still different."

"Oh." Her blue eyes narrow in concentration as she stores the information away, then she turns back to Kurt. "I hope you stop sleeping in your car. And remember to keep the engine off, because it's bad for the environment."

Wait, she _heard_ him? "...Sorry, what?"

"I only caught the last part, but you said you were going to take a nap in your car with the engine running - does that mean you drive while you're sleeping to save time?" Brittany asks.

He can't do anything but laugh at how ridiculous this conversation must sound, and he feels a smile crack through his face like a new plant pushing through snow. "Brittany, I can't drive while I'm asleep. That's kind of impossible." He doesn't bother trying to explain sleepwalking, falling asleep at the wheel, or all the weird medical disorders that technically render sleep-driving possible. One, that would take too much time; two, this is _Brittany_ ; and three, he really wants to go home and talk to Blaine.

"That explains why you're so sad lately," she muses, and his tentative smile withers instantly, as much from confusion as the startling flash of insight. "Normally you say that everything's possible, and it's only listening to other people that holds you back. You'll manage it in the end, though! You always do."

His spring smile slowly grows back from the roots, and even the snow of his skin starts thawing. "Okay, Britt, I need to go now. Dad needs help at the shop."

"Bye, Kurt!" She waves as enthusiastically as a little kid.

Kurt waves back with an icy hand. He knows Brittany's completely misinterpreted his rant, and nobody will understand enough to ask her for details (except maybe Santana). But he knows that she knows how bad things are getting, deep in that big childlike heart of hers, and that is more terrifying than if she'd recorded every miserable word he'd screamed into his phone.

Of all people who noticed something so important, it's the one who needs reminders about which bathroom to use.

* * *

__  
**For an instant the icy wings hung silent in the air, like clouds, and the harpy's old yellow eyes sank into the unicorn's heart and drew her close. "I will kill you if you set me free," the eyes said. "Set me free."**   


Kurt is walking in the deserted hallways when Karofsky's voice shatters the silence. "Hey there, queer. Where's the rest of your loser friends?"

Kurt allows himself to stop, but like hell if he's going to show _fear_. "They're in glee. Aren't you supposed to be in football practice getting your daily concussion?" It is a miracle how his voice doesn't crack under the strain of his panic, because his insides are an inferno and his skin is so cold it burns. _Stay away, stay away-_

"Nice one." Karofsky sneers at him, and when Kurt is done blinking very hard (he is _not_ shutting his eyes and hoping he'll wake up from this horrible dream) he finds Karofsky's shadow falling across his face. "Didn't see you till half past lunch-where were you, sucking off that boyfriend of yours?"

"He's not my boyfriend, and he lives two hours away. How would I get there and _back_ in thirty minutes?" Kurt answers. His panic is replaced by anger because Karofsky sounds almost _jealous_ right now, and who the hell is he to be jealous of Blaine - someone who doesn't throw Kurt into dumpsters or call him names all the time? "You know, even a Neanderthal like you can't believe I'm the only gay person in Lima. In fact, I met a guy last month called _Dave_ -"

" _Shut up!_ "

Kurt is slammed into the nearest locker, and for a moment he cannot think with his vision all gray, but it is worth it to see that flicker of fear on Karofsky's face before the tough-guy facade returns.

"I warned you," he spits like a cobra, venomous words sizzling with hate. "I _warned_ you what I'd do if you told, faggot. You think talking like that'll stop me?"

"There's no one here to _tell!_ " Kurt laughs dizzily, cold iron singing a descant in his ears, and scrabbles against the wall to regain his balance. "Oh wait, the _lockers!_ They can't keep a secret for shit, can they -"

Karofsky actually lifts Kurt by his shirt this time; he feels his feet scrape futilely against the floor, and goes as quiet as a mouse. Karofsky's gray-green eyes have gone as dark and menacing as stormclouds, fingers digging viciously into Kurt's shoulders as he drags him closer, and this sets off _so many alarm bells_ that Kurt forgets his pride and lets a scared breath slip from his mouth.

 _Nonononono please don't,_ **please** _-_

Karofsky's smile cuts him deep, and it isn't until Kurt screws his eyes and mouth shut that he realizes he's actually said it aloud. "You _think_ of telling anyone else, and you'll be wearing red."

Kurt nods, and when he is dropped to the ground he closes his eyes again. When he opens them, he is still in the hallway and his head still hurts.

At least Karofsky is gone.

* * *

Kurt is still a little dazed as he wanders out of the school entrance, where Blaine waits on the steps. Blaine waves, saying something about being right on time, then blinks and runs over. "What _happened_?"

"Talk later. Where's your car?" His voice limps out on its last legs, buckling under its own weight. He is too exhausted to care.

"It's right over there..." Blaine motions halfheartedly, eyes still on Kurt. "Are you okay?"

There is another question that darkens Blaine's hazel eyes, turning them the gentle shade of a summer forest, but he puts a hand on the countertenor's shoulder instead. Kurt flinches-not from pain, but Blaine thinks that's why and he withdraws immediately. "Sorry -"

"No, it's just... I'm a little jumpy today. Not sure why."

And Blaine knows that it is not the truth, but he nods anyway. "Come on."

They walk. Blaine is staying next to him and Kurt can feel the boy stealing glances at him. His eyes are concerned and completely understandable, and Kurt wishes there was something else besides the stupid, obvious, _normal_ fact that Kurt had a nervous breakdown a few hours ago and that he can't walk straight.

Blaine opens the passenger door first and makes sure Kurt swings it shut before stepping inside himself.

* * *

* * *

__  
**"You may come with me if you like, though I wish you had asked me for some other reward."**   


__  
**Schmendrick smiled sadly. "I thought about it." He looked at his fingers, and the unicorn saw the half-moon marks where the bars had bitten him. "But you could never have granted my true wish."**   


Kurt fiddles with the seat-belt strap as he dictates the way home. He knows this route like the back of his hand, whether he's barely awake, hopped up on caffeine, or almost-concussed. Blaine is unusually cautious when stopping and starting at the streetlights, likely due to that last fact.

The silence is tense, but not uncomfortable; Kurt's head is pounding and Blaine is still unsure of whether to speak, even as he pulls into the driveway. "And we're here in one piece!" He declares gratefully, unsnapping his seat-belt and taking the keys out of the ignition.

"Is Lima _so_ much worse than Westerville?" Kurt asks, and his laugh is weak but sincere. "You are incorrigibly sheltered if it is."

Blaine makes a feeble noise of protest and smiles disarmingly, but they both know that he is not worried about the driving.

In the house, Kurt flops onto the couch with relief (which is genuine, even if hitting the armrest sends shooting pain through his temples). He really wants to go to his mom's room for an hour or five, like he does when the day's been particularly vicious and he doesn't want his dad to see the bruises, but then he might start crying again. It was a horrible experience when Blaine was just a voice on the phone, and he doesn't know what will happen with Blaine physically here.

"Kurt." And Blaine is _looking_ at him with that soft, sad, _understanding_ expression. Kurt can't bring himself to lash out at him like when others look at him like that, because Blaine really does know how he feels, and why he feels it. Blaine has felt that sad-angry-lonely- _why_ frothing under his skin, and Blaine has been stuck in a hick town that wants to break him. Blaine has already broken, and he thinks Kurt is close to breaking, too.

He staggers up like he's gotten smashed into the lockers again. "Oh, _where_ are my manners? You want any -"

"I'm fine."

There goes his stalling attempt. He gives a strangled laugh, fights the tears back, and he wins over them by the skin of his teeth. "You want to sit down, then?"

"So you kind of... _lost_ it at lunch." Blaine sits down as gingerly as a puppy learning its first command, cautious eyes and worried mouth. "Is there something you aren't telling me?"

_I nearly got concussed by the self-hating Neanderthal. He all but said he'd shank me if I told anyone he was gay, and then he got_   
_  
**really**   
_   
_close so I sort of panicked because I thought he might kiss me again. Or do something else. My head hurts and I can't think straight and_   
_  
**I want my mom**   
_   
_and I'm sort of in love with you._

"Kurt?"

 _What the hell, voice?_ He thinks irritably. _The_ _ **one**_ _time you don't start making noise without my consent!_ Okay, this is getting to be Rachel-Berry levels of crazy, so he stops berating his own voice and clears his throat. The noise comes out like a sob-oh _god,_ not again. "I..."

 _Focus, Kurt, focus_ , he tells himself. _Just metaphorically vomit every tiny thing that went through your head a few seconds ago - Blaine knows your brain-pan is slightly broken, so this is the_ _ **perfect**_ _time to state your feelings without making things unbearably awkward._ "I'm sort of..."

Maybe if he tries to laugh it'll be easier to get the rest out. He feels his diaphragm contract and expand at rapid-fire speed, but he says the wrong words and he makes the wrong sounds, and he curls into himself because the tears are coming down. "Can you _stay_ here for a while?"

 _Please stay here,_ _ **please.**_ He must have said it out loud this time, because Blaine puts an arm around him and lets Kurt put his head on his chest, and he doesn't say a word about the hot tears soaking into his collar.

Even though he can feel the warm, whispering pulse in Blaine's neck, and even though Blaine does not leave until well after Kurt has nothing left to say or shed, this is not what Kurt wants.


	3. The Magician

**Notes:** This is going into Blaine's point of view for a while. Blaine's statement in the "Silly Love Songs" that he barely knows what he's doing but tries to look like he does intrigued me, and now I keep feeling that he's the other side of the coin for Kurt's character.

Blaine is pretty obviously Prince Lir's counterpart for his whole knight-in-shining-armor attitude, but there's also the fact that before Amalthea came he was a sweet, lazy chicken who just wanted his dad to love him. Plus, Lir sings a boatload of songs to Amalthea. Daddy issues and serenading by a coward who becomes great through the power of love? Blaine is practically Lir's reincarnation!

It also helps that Darren Criss is hopelessly adorable in real life. I watched his livestream and fell even more in love with him than I already was.

* * *

 _  
**"Now I knew you for a unicorn when I first saw you, and I know that I am your friend. Yet you take me for a clown, or a clod, or a betrayer, and so must I be if you see me so. The magic on you is only magic and will vanish as soon as you are free, but the enchantment of error that you put on me I must wear forever in your eyes."**   
_

Before Kurt came to Dalton, there were only three things that distinguished Blaine from everyone else.

"Blaine the Warbler" is pretty obvious.

"Gay Blaine" is in response to the question "Wait-are we talking about gay Blaine, Muslim Blaine, or soccer Blaine?" All three of them were pretty active in school functions, but outsiders' confusion paled in comparison to when they had to talk to each other. _Without_ using "gay/Muslim/soccer" or last names, because according to the dean, the first was "dreadfully unprofessional" and the second sounded antagonistic.

"Harry Freakin' Potter" is from his complete collection of Harry Potter books, the posters lining his side of the room, almost-complete collection of the movies (he is waiting for the _moment_ Deathly Hallows 2 comes out), and his tendency to dress up like the eponymous wizard for costume parties. Wes started the whole thing after one person too many asked who Blaine was going to be. "Harry _freaking_ Potter! Who else?"

Wes' mother had trained him not to swear outside of home, and sometimes Wes winces after cursing as if she'd magically appear for the sole purpose of smacking him upside the head. When Wes' older sister has a video chat with him on Fridays, it's eerie to see them both look over their shoulders at the same time when one of them says anything stronger than 'damn.'

"Mom's Filipino," Wes explains one day, and Blaine empathizes because everything makes sense now. His own mother is Filipino, and though she's not as opposed to cursing as Wes' mom, she's adamant that being gay does _not_ excuse him from being a "good" boy. Meaning of course, being polite, gracious, and selfless to the point of chivalry. "Your mom's _traditional_ , isn't she?" Wes asks sympathetically.

Blaine's mom keeps asking when he's going to stop with the Warblers and start studying medicine or law. Not that he isn't a great singer, of course, but he can't expect music to pay the bills. Or in her words: "I was sixteen, I know how young people think, but you have to get ready for a _real_ job soon. You're _smart!_ Why do you waste so much time on singing?"

And Blaine tries to explain that just because he _can_ study medicine or law doesn't mean he _wants_ to, and it circles back into the youth-versus-age argument (and a hint of culture clash) with Mom's " _Ay, Dios_ \- always thinking of what you _want!_ But you'll remember what I said when you're broke and starving, and then you'll wish you listened to me!" Then she storms off to her and Dad's room, sounding more like a six-foot-seven soldier than a five-foot-one dentist, and Blaine twists his hands futilely in her wake.

"You know how paranoid she is," his dad reassures him, coming out of the kitchen now that the danger has passed. Blaine knows that his dad will never be happy about him being gay, and they will never be as close as they used to, but it has gotten better over the two years Blaine's been out. "She just doesn't want anything to happen to you."

They have both heard his mother's rants countless times before: Living just outside Manila with three younger brothers and both parents working on unpredictable pay, she grew up hard and fast and escaped to America. One career, a husband, and three kids later, her youngest boy - the one with nearly _everything_ \- seems determined to throw all it away on a wild-goose chase and _choose_ the life she fought so hard to get out of.

And maybe this is the different culture, different experiences, different _life_ that's talking - but it hurts so much more when his mother is fed up with his singing because she always, always acts like it's _his_ fault.

* * *

 _  
**"I knew it would come to this," he muttered. "I dreamed it differently, but I knew." He brought out a ring from which dangled several rusty keys. "You deserve the services of a great wizard," he said to the unicorn, "but I'm afraid you'll have to be glad of the aid of a second-rate pickpocket."**   
_

So the whole "confront Karofsky and stand up for yourself" thing... It didn't go as well as Blaine hoped. Over the month that he gets to know Kurt better, the countertenor becomes brittle and withdrawn. He puts up a very good front, admittedly, but nobody is better at appearances than Blaine.

He gets a call from Kurt one Thursday at lunch, where things fall apart after Blaine asks "You want me to come over this weekend?"

 _ **"Yes!"**_ Kurt's voice cracks into pieces and if anyone has ever literally _burst_ into tears, it is Kurt. He sounds like he's been keeping them in for so long that he just can't stop now.

Blaine has no idea how to deal with someone crying, at least not on the phone where he can't do anything to help. And he almost doesn't notice that the other Warblers have been slowly getting quieter as the conversation worsens from "I am a music-loving dork" to "Homophobic bullying sucks" to Blaine forgetting that he's in the Warblers' practice room and shrieking, "Holy fuck, Kurt - are you _okay?_ "

And it's a stupid question, he knows, but Blaine can't trust himself to say anything else.

Blaine is pretty sure that everyone in a fifty-mile radius can hear when Kurt lists every single reason _why_ he isn't okay. Starting from closeted-homosexual-and-almost-stalker Karofsky who has threatened several times to kill him if he tells someone what happened.

He is pretty sure randomly kissing someone out of the blue counts as sexual harassment, and even if it doesn't there's some sort of legal term for threatening to _kill someone_ you've constantly been bullying.

And his suspicions of why none of Kurt's friends notice what's right in front of them are confirmed when Kurt spills that he's not afraid _of_ them, or what they'll think; he's afraid _for_ them, and what heartwarming actions they'll take in his defense that will send Karofsky after them, which might be enough for Kurt to... take a _nap_? In his car, with the engine on-

Oh god.

Oh god, what does he do? _What does he do_ , what the hell does anyone _say_ to that? Blaine sends a pleading look towards David, who is on his way to becoming a psychologist, and he fights the urge to punch the older student as he shakes his head helplessly.

He should have known that David would feel too involved, because Kurt's contact on his phone has the name "Horrible Spy" instead of Kurt Hummel, which is a sign that David considers him a friend. For example, "Wins Every Bet by Losing His Soul" is Wes Kahale, "I Fucked Up Again, Please Help" is Blaine Anderson, and "I am Offended at a Completely Harmless Thing You Said" is Thad Green.

Kurt is crying in that stifled way that means he's either calming down or he's regaining enough composure to make people _think_ he's calming down, so Blaine clears his throat. "I'm coming today. Where do you want to meet up?"

 _"Come to McKinley - I'll tell you how to get to my place."_ At Kurt's response there is a spark of happiness flashing through Blaine's head that should not be, at least not in the ecstatic "I am going to Kurt's _house_!" way that sounds like a thirteen-year-old going to her first date. He pretends it's a shorter version of "Kurt isn't _quite_ suicidal yet, and he's letting me come to his house to prove that this wasn't a freaky-accurate tape recording before he gassed himself in his garage like a Holocaust victim!"

"I'll be there when your classes end. Hold up, all right?"

 _"Bye."_ Kurt's voice is still raw and shaky, but at least the life is starting to get back into it.

"Bye." He hangs up to see the others staring at him uneasily, and he gives them a valiant attempt at a smile. "Uh, guys... I don't think I'll be at rehearsal today."

"Blaine, Lima is two hours away." Wes points out.

"Yeah?"

Wes sighs. "You'd have to leave _now_ if you want to get there at three. Otherwise you'll be caught in traffic and the commute is going to double in time at the _least._ "

"I only have English and Algebra, so maybe..." Crap, they have a paper due in English, right? Lucky him, because Wes is in Stahl's class, too. "Wes, give my essay to Mr. Stahl, please?" He digs it out of his back and hands it over, pausing at how utterly _stunned_ Wes looks. (For anyone else, raised eyebrows would only denote mild surprise, but on Wes it's a huge deal.) "What? This isn't the first time you've had to turn things in for me."

"I didn't think you'd actually go," Wes admits.

That should have been clear already, but Blaine lets it go. "Well, this is... it's kind of important."

"How important?"

He balks at the question as he rubs at the back of his neck, because a not-quite-suicidal friend is a _really_ touchy subject and Kurt wouldn't appreciate others knowing that much. "I'm not entirely sure that this _isn't_ life-or-death," is the only thing he feels comfortable admitting.

"God, just fucking _go_!" David practically shoves him out of the room. "We're Warblers, Blaine, we'll cover for you."

" _I'm not entirely sure that this isn't life or death,_ " Thad repeats after Blaine sprints out to the parking lot. "Who called _I'm uncertain if this is a life-or-death matter_ for the 'what Blaine would finally say because of Kurt' bet?"

Wes raises his hand, though he does not look happy and he pushes the various five-dollar-bills away as they are held out. "I forfeit, though."

"Dude, you just kept a piece of your _soul_ by forfeiting that," Nick congratulates him. "How's it feel?"

"Terrible." Wes sighs.

David takes out a notebook and crosses the phrase out from where it's written. "All right, since the bet is still valid," he announces, "the current stakes are on _I'm scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life the way I feel when I'm with you_ \- not to be discouraging, Martin, but even Blaine's not that sappy. Next is _I want to fuck you into the mattress_ \- Trent, you might as well give us your money now because this is _Blaine_. Last one is _I've been waiting for you all my life._ Jeff, you're probably going to win this one."

"Sweet!"

Thad shoots up from his seat in outrage. "We all agreed that the likelihood of certain bets will not be remarked upon -"

"Well, compared to _Dirty Dancing quotes_ and Blaine being uncharacteristically direct, _I've been waiting for you all my life_ is practically guaranteed."

"By that logic, Council Member Wes -"

"Wes doesn't count because he sells bits of his soul to the devil every time he makes a bet."

The other Warblers nodded in agreement.

* * *

 _  
**"I was looking for my people," the unicorn said. "Have you seen them, magician? They are wild and sea-white, like me."**   
_

_  
**Schmendrick shook his head gravely. "I have never seen anyone like you, not while I was awake."**   
_

Lying in bed at night after having drove two hours back to Dalton, Blaine remembers three things: The smell of Kurt's shampoo, that weird half-focused look in his eyes, and how this all is happening because he told Kurt to stand up for himself.

He watches his phone as it charges on the bedside table, trying desperately to find a way out of this mess he's gotten Kurt in. Eventually he gives it up as impossible: The resilient, fashionable, amazingly talented countertenor who is almost too good to be true is slowly breaking under reality, and this is all his fault.

* * *

 _He is standing in a creaking wooden boat that he knows is actually Kurt's, and looks down to see green kelp forests lurking under the ocean's surface. The unending water spreads out to the horizon under stony clouds. When the boat scrapes something, Blaine nearly falls out and when he regains his balance, he is soaked. The water is cold and salty and oh god, it's already up to his ankles._

 _He grabs a bucket and starts bailing the boat out as fast as he can. When he looks beside him to see Kurt, who is quite unfazed even on his slowly-sinking boat, he is further annoyed because why the hell isn't Kurt wet? "Kurt, this is your boat! I am SO sorry, holy fuck -"_

 _"This is how you lost yours, you know," Kurt chastises him, and when he steps closer the Dalton student skitters away._

 _"You know what'll happen if you get too close." The water reaches their shins in spite of Blaine's efforts._

 _"If you'd just stop panicking -"_

 _"I'm sorry if I don't want us to **drown** _!" And he panics even more because this might actually happen, having escaped from his head like a fleeing bird, and this won't make a whit of sense when he's awake, will it? "I especially don't want **you** to drown! Not because of me!"__

 _"I can swim, doofus."_

 _He really wants to dump the bucket on Kurt since he **won't let anything affect him**  
. "We're a week away from the shore!"_

 _"You only think that's a lot because **you'd** try to go it alone."_

 _He takes a deep breath to calm down, and also to keep himself from screaming because Kurt isn't getting that they're in **way** over their heads. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn't care, and Blaine is terrified because **he's** supposed to stay calm in the face of everything. "Why are you so calm about it?"_

 _And now it's fucking **raining** , and he's crying so hard for so many reasons that he can't finish talking. He expects ice to start caking on his skin right here and now, and the rain will not stop and everything is his fault -_

 _All of a sudden Kurt is next to him. So very, very close that Blaine sees spring-green leaves and the summer sky and gray stormclouds in his eyes. When he puts his arms around Blaine's neck, a heartbeat booms through the rain. It must be Kurt's heart, because Blaine tries to make sure nobody can hear his. Kurt becomes as drenched as if he'd plunged into the sea, yet he's so warm that Blaine can't stop himself from returning the hug._

 _Kurt says something that he can't quite hear, his breath searing over Blaine's jaw, and Blaine can smell the saltwater on his skin._

At 5:42 AM, he wakes up with half his blanket on the floor. He drags the blanket back onto the bed, curls up under it, and wishes he was back on the sinking boat with Kurt.

When his alarm sounds at 6:15, he dries off his face and pretends it was never wet.

* * *

 **Notes:** I totally didn't base Blaine's mom off my own mom. ...Okay, I did. And I really didn't intend for Blaine to become this hybrid of Schmendrick and Lir, but there are all these hints of Blaine's regrets and how he's helping Kurt because he wants Kurt to have a better life than he did, so it ended up meshing really well.

Next chapter's going to go way faster, I promise.


	4. The Outlaws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be more light-hearted and heavy on dialogue, because I feel you guys deserve something that isn't morose.

__  
**"They see what you have forgotten how to see."**  


The Warblers have run through their longest bet in the last four months, which is "Kurt and Blaine _will_ hook up within the next decade, it's just a matter of what will finally do it."

Brandon goes the classic route and bets five on Blaine serenading Kurt in the mall or outside his window or something, because Blaine is romantic like that. It's a false alarm, and _everyone's_ mad at Blaine the moment he says "He works at The Gap." Even Kurt's mad at Blaine once he stops looking like a wibbly little Dachshund puppy who got kicked by the biggest douche ever.

"We're about to serenade a _complete fucking stranger_ ," Brandon fumes after practice once Kurt and Blaine leave the room. Granted, Gap Dude is only a stranger to _them_ and not Blaine, but who's splitting hairs? "Has Blaine gotten permanent brain damage from his daily gallon of hair-gel?"

"Maybe Kurt secretly works at the Gap to fund his wardrobe?" David asks hopefully, and Wes rolls his eyes.

"Yes, Kurt's heartbroken look denotes utter shame at the awful truth Blaine's discovered - _Kurt works at The Gap._ "

It turns out that Blaine accidentally got Gap Dude fired, and that he wasn't quite out of the closet yet, _and_ that he feels uncomfortable about dating an underage guy (but they all know what Gap Dude means by "dating" - Blaine turned seventeen in November, and that makes him a whopping _one year_ above the legal age). This ends in not one, but two heartbroken Warblers.

They decide to go easy on Blaine instead of ignoring him as planned, because _dude_.

* * *

David bets five dollars on a Christmas party and a diabetes-inducing song. Thanks to David giving Kurt a lion-shaped pin as a Christmas-present-slash-camera-trigger, they end up watching Blaine and Kurt sing a duet that could send an elephant into a sexually-frustrated sugar coma. ...And then Blaine leaves right afterward, leaving Kurt to tell _his former choir director_ how he feels about Blaine.

 _"- with him and he's actually gay. I call that progress,"_ _Kurt tells the man._

"...This explains _a lot_." David says slowly. "Wes and I'll be back in a few minutes, guys."

"The usual?" Wes asks, and David nods. Before the two of them head to the practice room, David takes a huge gulp of "non-alcoholic" cider.

_"Hi guys, what's -"_

_"Kurt! Awesome!" David's movement is far too sloppy for one gulp of cider, and he latches onto Kurt with a scary-accurate version of his hazy, drunk-as-sin laugh._

_"Is there a reason David just walked up and surgically attached himself to my neck?"_

_Wes is as calm as usual, considering David is several inches taller than Kurt and neither of the two look very comfortable. "Sorry, Kurt, I think someone spiked the drinks at the seniors' party."_

Backpacks are unzipped and paper rustles as the seniors of the group scribble down a reminder to text the other seniors about the "Christmas party with spiked drinks" in case Kurt or Blaine runs into them next Monday.

_"No, it's okay. Just startled me." The countertenor shifts in resignation. "At least he's not throwing up on anyone."_

_David wobbles impressively after letting go, a face-cracking grin plastered on his face. "Holy fuck, Kurt, you're actually_ _**wearing** _ _it!"_

_"What? Oh, you mean the pin! Yeah, thanks, it's really nice - grk!" David's grip has visibly tightened, and Wes shoots him a dirty look._

_"David, get off our countertenor before he suffocates or gets his voice box crushed. We need him_ _**and** __his voice in Regionals."_

_"Actually, can I get another ten seconds?" Kurt asks tentatively. "I'm not feeling a lot of Christmas cheer right now."_

"Of course you wouldn't after getting the mother of all cock-blocks from Blaine!" Nick tells the screen.

_"Homesick?" Wes asks._

_"...And another kind of metaphorical sickness," Kurt admits._

"Okay, that's just depressing," Martin remarks.

When David gets back, he receives half the ante as compensation since while _Blaine's_ idiocy was well-known, they'd completely underestimated how stupid _Kurt_ could get when he was in love. "It feels wrong to make money on someone's misery," he says. (Which doesn't stop him from taking it.)

* * *

Twelve of the Warblers match the bet on a normal party and/or a fuckload of alcohol. The win is _another_ false alarm since Blaine and Kurt's post-party awkwardness turns out to be actual _awkwardness_ , as opposed to "I just slept with my best friend who's been in love with me the minute I sang Teenage Dream to him, but we'll sort it out in a few days."

"So, Blaine, do anything interesting at the party?" David asks at breakfast with a grin.

"Uh, kind of."

"Sweet lord, you _answered_ instead of politely backing out!" He gives Blaine a high-five, then notices that his blazer's sleeve is open. "Shit, my cuff-link's loose - one minute."

"Sure, man." Blaine takes a sip of pomegranate juice. David takes a second look at it - doesn't Kurt like pomegranate juice? - then turns on his cuff-link camera switch under the guise of adjusting his blazer. The Warblers snap to attention at the screen flickering on.

_"- singing "Don't You Want Me" with Rachel, and then a few scenes are missing... aaaand I woke up in Kurt's bed with a hangover."_

"Fuck yeah, _get some!_ " Nick punches the air. "And _I_ am getting some _money_ -"

_"- avoid you last week? You didn't do something_ _**wrong** _ _, did you?"_

_"What? No! Actually, I was... I was completely clothed and so was Kurt." Blaine chuckles nervously. "It's a long story."_

Silence.

"No." Nick states. " _No_ , Blaine: That story better have ninjas crashing the party, we're-about-to-die sex _and_ we-beat-some-fucking-ninjas sex with Kurt, dressing up again afterward to keep your parents from discovering the wounds, and a declaration in front of the fucking _school_ that you and Kurt finally did it. And that you two are now gay ninjas, so bitches better not mess with you again."

The story has a distinct lack of ninjas, peril, and sex. Neither does Blaine confess his love for Kurt (or their new status as gay ninjas) in front of the entire school. In fact, the story involves a drunk Blaine making out with Rachel Berry, mistaking drunk-and-horny feelings for _feelings_ -feelings (which means Blaine's obviously never had alcohol before, not that anyone's surprised), and Kurt getting mad because not only was Blaine being an idiot, Rachel once said that she'd always have a better chance at winning guys than Kurt because most guys are straight and she's a girl.

Wes raises an eyebrow at that. "Kurt went to her _party?_ "

_"- feel like an idiot when he told me that." Blaine finishes off his toast._

_"And he's_ _**friends** _ _with her?"_

_"Apparently she's a lot better since Kurt's not competition for solos anymore." Beat. "Anyway, we sorted that out and... yeah, everything's good."_

"It's NOT fucking good!" Nick insists, and Jeff grabs him out of habit as he tries to head for the door - no doubt to kill Blaine for being stupid. "Goddamn you, Blaine - I will lock you and Kurt in a room until you hook up!"

 _"Order!"_ Wes pounds his gavel. Everyone freezes for a minute - it's a long story, but Wes trained everyone like dogs to instantly respond to the sound of a gavel. Nick reluctantly sits back down while the council member takes out the notebook and crosses out "drunk sex during/after a party" with a sigh.

Only Blaine could have an actual _story_ behind getting drunk, blacking out, and waking up in someone's bed.

* * *

Wes ups the ante to ten dollars on a duet at Regionals that wins them first place. "I really don't care about Regionals anymore - it's not like we're hanging by a thread like the New Directions." No one could have predicted that Pavarotti's untimely death would doom them to second-place. Or that there'd be a nun and an ultra-conservative on the judges' panel, which means they're lucky not to be so far down the list that they can't see daylight.

While Kurt sings a lovely rendition of Blackbird by the Beatles, there is a look of epiphany on Blaine's face halfway through that _cannot be anything but love._ Only a few of them are able to notice, with the shock of Pavarotti's departure uniting them in kickass harmony, but David is on it without a second thought.

"Did anyone else _see_ Blaine's face?" He asks after Kurt leaves to find a coffin for Pavarotti.

"Let's hope this doesn't turn out like the Gap Attack," Wes cautions them. "For all we know, Blaine's been dating yet another non-Kurt person who has some tenuous connection to The Beatles."

"You are _not_ ruining this for us." David declares. "I _know_ my expressions of epiphany, man-there's "Oh god" epiphanies, "I'm in love" epiphanies, and "Oh god, I'm in love" epiphanies. Blaine was definitely the third."

The day gets better when Blaine says that he wants to sing a duet. Wes is still skeptical and everyone's still a little worried that Blaine will spring the existence of a Beatles-loving non-Kurt duet partner on them (which would mean _one of the Warblers has fucking betrayed their own!_ ), but then Blaine says there will be no auditions because _he wants to sing with Kurt._

Sweet holy shit, this is actually happening. If someone walked in right now and saw all the identical smirks on their faces, they would be considered some sort of hive mind.

"All in favor of Kurt and Blaine singing lead at Regionals?" Everyone raises their hands immediately because _it's finally happening_ , and even Wes is grinning like crazy because while they will only place second due to Pavarotti's death, he will still win two hundred dollars.

* * *

 __  
**But the men had not yet reached the pasture gate when the white mare jumped the fence and was gone into the night like a falling star. The two men stood where they were for a time, not heeding the Mayor's commands to come back; and neither ever said, even to the other, why he stared after the magician's mare so long.**  


Since Kurt is adorable and wears David's pin to every Warbler meeting, David and Wes are now privy to _the entire conversation_ that Kurt and Blaine have after rehearsal. Of course, it takes them a full three hours of camera-monitoring to actually get to that point because it would _suck_ if Blaine and Kurt decided to resolve their epic sexual tension with not a soul to witness them. Within reason, of course - they're just going to get enough evidence to prove that Dalton's most obvious (recent) couple finally hooked up.

Not since Gary Renault and Paul Zhang got together has there been a such a _stupid_ couple at Dalton Academy. The art students _and_ the Warblers suffered through a straight year of phone calls, mopey sighs, _painting/song trades_ , and "Gary's grief over his grandma's death gives me license to be a pussy and pretend that a relationship is the last thing he needs, even if the only change is admitting we even _have_ one." Paul's incredible feat of denial has disturbing similarities to Blaine's idea that totally platonic friends go on twice-weekly coffee dates, get up in each other's personal space, and (before Kurt came to Dalton) constantly text or call each other during passing periods and lunch.

When the betting pool for how Paul and Gary would get together started, Wes made an offhand remark that "I bet the only way they'd admit anything is if one of them nearly dies." The following October, Paul got a cold and had a freak reaction to his meds. It resulted in Paul blacking out in the library, Ms. Irons calling the ambulance, and a full forty people witnessing Gary's anguished declaration of love. (Also the revelation that _they have said "I love you" before,_ as made evident by "No no no, I mean it this time - _I love you_!")

One week after Paul got back from the hospital, Wes was handed fifty dollars despite never placing a formal bet on account of "that is fucking _scary_ , dude."

Yes, this is where the "sells his soul" jokes come from. And he is totally not paranoid about what he says; he just makes sure he doesn't say anything that could threaten a Warbler's safety again. Paul was one of the Warbler's _basses_. If countertenors are like VIP passes that vastly expand their song choices, basses are like the RSVP seats that need to be bought months in advance but mean they will never deal with annoying people - like that person who comments _every thirty seconds_. Or dear god, the parents who bring entirely-too-young _children_ to shows like Avenue Q or Sweeney Todd, then act like _they're_ the victims when their kids start crying in terror or asking uncomfortable questions.

...Something may have been lost in translation.

* * *

The third hour draws to a close, and the two of them have finished the first drafts of their Psych and History essays. (They may be obsessed, but they are not _morons_.)

_"What's that?"_

BLAINE IS IN THE SAME ROOM AS KURT, SWEET JESUS. The only thing that keeps Wes from jerking in shock and messing up his paper is the fact that he's more of a freeze-to-the-spot guy. The muttered "Shit!" from David says otherwise.

_"I'm decorating Pavarotti's casket."_

_"Well, finish up - I have the perfect song for our number and we should practice."_

_"Do tell."_

_"Candles, by Hey Monday."_

Wes rolls his eyes. "Blaine, that is _not_ the perfect song for you and your imminent boyfriend."

"What's it about?" David asks.

"Person breaks up with abusive boyfriend and realizes how shitty he is. The tune's disturbingly romantic for a breakup song." At that, David rolls _his_ eyes. For a great singer and a generally intelligent guy, Blaine has a habit of missing the point a lot. (Hint: KURT.)

_"- something a little more... emotional."_

_That_ gets their attention. They move closer around the screen and David adjusts the controls to get rid of the static.

_"Why did you pick me to sing that song with?"_

"Because he's in love with you." David says in all seriousness, during a long pause that gets them a little worried.

_"Kurt, there is a moment when you say to yourself... Oh,_ _**there** _ _you are! I've been looking for you forever."_

"Looks like Jeff _did_ win the sub-bet," David remarks.

And then Blaine catches bad logorrhea and starts _talking_. There are lots of pauses and the expression that looks like he's thinking _before_ he says something this time. Normally people pick their words as carefully as he is because they _don't_ want to sound like a chick flick, but this is Blaine and Kurt - they're practically a Lifetime movie couple, with Blaine being a talented half-Asian perfectionist and Kurt being adorable, blue-eyed, and _miserable as fuck_ half the time.

If they were any _more_ of a Lifetime couple, Blaine would be a lot more broody and he'd have had at least three attempts on his life. (There was that incident after a Sadie Hawkins dance that he doesn't talk about much, but getting the shit beat out of you isn't necessarily deadly.) Kurt would have been sexually harassed on top of the homophobic bullying. (David isn't sure if that _didn't_ happen because when people look at Kurt too long, even just Blaine, there's this barely-noticeable cringe that he covers up with an imperious _ahem_ and a glare that could freeze lava.)

_"Watching you do Blackbird - that was a moment for me..."_

For one fleeting, terrible moment, they wonder if Blaine will fuck up again at the brink of success (it doesn't help that Kurt looks as skeptical as they feel), but then Blaine adds " _about you_ " and they relax. His mouth works for a few moments before he can make sound come out again.

_"You move me, Kurt."_

The way he says it sounds like he really, really, _really_ wants to say "I love you" and chickens out at the last minute. Kurt can hear it, too, David can tell because of the tiny slip of a change in Kurt's expression, and it's a little heartbreaking that for once he's decided to listen to what's coming of Blaine's mouth instead of what Blaine's _trying_ to say.

"Not everyone's a shrink in training like you, David," Wes reminds him when he spots the disappointment on David's face.

Kurt and Blaine don't have the best track record with love and courage, not when the other is involved, so Wes looks at David with the silent question of _Should we save the blackmail for after Regionals?_

 _Duh_ , David responds.

And as if this almost-confession isn't good enough, Blaine does what everyone's been expecting him to do since Teenage Dream (maybe a little before that) and _kisses Kurt_. For a moment they stare in complete disbelief - David actually makes Wes hit him to see if he wakes up.

"NO MORE UNRESOLVED SEXUAL TENSION!" David crows. Wes just turns off the monitor, but he _does_ allow himself another smirk at the two-hundred dollars about to come his way.

* * *

 __  
**Their faces were as beautiful as though they had never known fear.**  


When it's time for Candles, Kurt starts out a little shaky. It's really not that surprising, considering that all of the Warblers have watched the tape. ("This duet is just an excuse to spend more time with you" - bad at romance, their collective asses.) It sounds a lot better than they'd expected with the acoustics of the stage, and if you don't pay attention to the lyrics it's absurdly romantic.

Judging by how every female in the audience practically melts in their seat, they're fine on the "not paying attention" front.

As the song goes on, the room lights up with the warm yellow glow of every single person waving an electric candle. They'd really only given those out as a joke and didn't expect such a _unanimous_ reaction, but it is _really, really good_. Because something changes in Kurt and Blaine, lights them up from the depths of their bones. Their voices fill the room like a flood, and suddenly nobody cares that Kurt is too sharp or that Blaine's just barely off-tempo during his solos.

Wes curls his hands into fists to keep them from shaking too hard, and he sees people in the audience _crying_. The Warblers have made people cry before, but never like this. Some are moved to tears as usual, while others smile through them, while still others look like they really need a hug, while yet more actually leave the room because they can't control their emotions.

Even a couple of Warblers take a second to wipe their eyes, because this is an entirely different level from rehearsal - no embarrassed laughs breaking the mood, no frazzled apologies for missing their cues, _no holding back._

Because this is _love_ , right in front of them.

* * *

 **Notes:** The last part was really hard to write. Performing is pretty well-known for perfectionism, but there are times when emotion trumps technique. And if _Puck_ was crying, you know a fuckload of other people were.

I was looking at the documents and noticed the chapters are growing by about five-hundred words. Is that good or bad?


	5. Molly Grue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I don't think I can finish this story in seven-ish chapters because there are WAY too many things I can get my psychology-major on with. I'll end this when it feels right, and that will be when I run out of quotes from _The Last Unicorn_.
> 
> "As Lovers Go" is by Dashboard Confessional, and "Paper Doll" is by Rachael Yamagata.

_  
**"Did you see me?" he asked the unicorn. "Were you watching, did you see what I made?"**   
_

_  
**"Yes," she answered. "It was true magic."**   
_

_  
**The loss came back, cold and bitter as a sword. "It's gone now," he said. "I had it - it had me - but it's gone now. I couldn't hold it."**   
_

Sometimes Kurt wonders if he's bipolar, because it shouldn't be possible to hate _and_ love his life right now.

He loves that in spite of the "everyone's equal so don't make waves" rule, the students at Dalton are quite distinct when you get past the uniform. His roommate Farhad is the only male among a single mother and two sisters (the older of whom is a _model_ , which is how he pays for Dalton), and there is an unspoken rule that you never ask Farhad how his family's doing if you don't want your brain leaking out of your ears by the time he's done. Personally, Kurt finds it a nostalgic reminder of the New Directions.

After a short but particularly convoluted update involving camera short-outs, four-hundred dollars' worth of fire damage, and Farhad's exasperation with how "Laila's dumbass boyfriend can't remember that you put fire out with fucking _water_ , how did he make it past age six?", Wes asks Farhad how he isn't totally insane by now.

"Me and Mom make a list of the most important things," he says. This week's list turns out to be three pages long on both sides, with increasingly bizarre reminders like "Never work with that animal trainer again." Farhad's also got a weird habit of putting the word "they" in all-caps, and never mentioning exactly who "they" are.

"Why is "they" always capitalized?" Blaine asks. "THEY met Laila last Tuesday? Mom called THEM, go home Monday to back her up? THEY said we have two weeks to finish the job? Is Laila a model or a _spy?_ "

"Dude, not so loud!" Farhad snatches the papers back and hunches over them protectively, checking around them even though they're in Blaine and Wes' room.

"Well..." Kurt remarks as the silence grows uncomfortable, "I just remembered that Blaine and I need to..." He shoots a glance at Blaine. "Prac... tice... something?"

Farhad groans. "Oh my god, isn't your next competition three months away?"

"No, Farhad - they're going to _practice_ ," David clarifies. " _Together._ "

"Oh." He puts the papers back in his binder before realization hits. " _Oh._ By the way, Blaine?"

"Hmm?"

"Nice joke about Laila," he says. "Because that was _hilarious_ and totally _not serious_. Right?"

"...Right." Blaine gives a smile that looks like he's being held hostage.

"Exactly. And dudes, you don't have to _tell_ us when you're going to _"practice" -_ we ain't your chaperones!" Farhad adds vehemently. "Kurt, make your dad stop calling me about that! God, I thought _I_ was overprotective..."

"I'm _trying!_ " He insists before getting tugged away by a still-unnerved Blaine.

* * *

He loves that against the growing odds that he'd live a lonely life with no one but his family and the glee club, he now has an amazing, talented, gorgeous boyfriend ( _boyfriend!_ ). He loves (Blaine) walking hand-in-hand down the hallways, he loves ( _Blaine_ ) the totally awesome makeout sessions that make his knees go weak, he loves ( _ **Blaine**_ ) that someone listens to what he says and never tells anyone about the more serious things, like late-night talks about bad dreams.

Because sometimes Kurt has total mind-screws where this all ends up being a dream, so depressingly realistic that he doesn't want to sleep at night. What if the next time he wakes up he's in the hospital recovering from a coma, and Dalton doesn't exist so his family drags him to therapy because he made up a world in his head?

Or he goes around his day without seeing or hearing from Blaine, and then the Warblers freak out and drag him to therapy because he's so pathetically lonely that he has delusions about a perfect boyfriend?

Or what if Blaine was real, what if he _was_ real before he got shot or stabbed or beaten to death because singing a duet with another boy cost them a _fucking lot more_ than a trophy and a mascot? And then the wounds reopen all at once, and then the Warblers drag him to therapy because his life is one of those big, tragic movies that people devour at the Oscars because they don't have to live it.

What if Kurt wakes up, Blaine is straight, and everything's back to platonic one-sided _nothing_? Only it would be worse than Finn because there are only so many times you can hook up each other's widowed parents and go from one-sided crush to stepbrothers. And there would be no accidental frustrated gay-bashing to make it sting less, because Blaine wouldn't be like that (he would _never_ be like that) and Kurt knows which lines he can't cross now.

And just like that, his happiness flees like water through his hands.

* * *

 _  
**Before the whiteness and the shining horn, Molly shrank to a shrilling beetle, but this time it was the unicorn's old dark eyes that looked down.**   
_

_Kurt is in a place that feels like McKinley's choir room and the Warbler's practice room at the same time. It's dark, but safe-like he's home turning the lights off before bed. But then he goes too far, crosses a boundary, and he is surrounded by people who crowd him against cold lockers. They laugh and laugh and laugh, and they just keep_   
_  
**touching**   
_   
_him, smiling these stabbing grins because they know he won't fight back. They press up close against him, dig clawlike hands into his skin, and he shuts his eyes but it doesn't make it hurt less._

 _Then they vanish and he's with Blaine. Kurt doesn't want Blaine here since he's sort of naked and mangled-how doesn't he notice? (He only pretends that Blaine doesn't notice, because the scarier thought is that he doesn't_   
_  
**care.**   
_   
_) There are towels and a bowl filled with water._

 _"Want anything else?" Blaine asks, and Kurt avoids looking at him because_   
_  
**god**   
_   
_, this is embarrassing. "What can I do for you?"_

 _He doesn't dare answer, so he starts cleaning the blood off as fast as possible. Kurt really wants help, because it's never as easy as in the movies - they don't show the dribbly mess or the pain making your hands shaky or how it doesn't feel very romantic because hello, excruciating pain?_

 _But getting help means Blaine has to touch him - that's important here, so very important that you can never go back from whatever it means. Blaine sings a Dashboard Confessional song to convince him, and he has a deep-red guitar. The room's horrible acoustics make Blaine sound tinny and way too loud, but his voice is clear and he means what he sings._

 _"I'll be true, I'll be useful, I'll be cavalier - I'll be yours, my dear. And I'll belong to you, if you'll just let me through..."_

 _Oh no, Kurt's crying. Why is he crying? (Kurt knows why, but it's easier to pretend he doesn't.) Blaine twists his hands as the guitar sheepishly vanishes, but he doesn't reach out_   
_  
**.**   
_   
_Slowly the wounds scab over; Kurt forces a smile because look, he's getting better, but Blaine doesn't smile back - they might be healing, but it doesn't mean he's getting better. "Kurt, let me help you."_

 _And he wants to so badly, because no one's offered it before. That must mean Blaine wants to help - that must mean Blaine wants_   
_  
**him**   
_   
_, no matter how broken he is. But Kurt's never_   
_  
**been**   
_   
_wanted before, he's always the one who has to ask or demand or take. He thought having it turned around would be nice for a change, but it's actually a little terrifying since it makes all these feelings swirl around in his head._

 _"I sound so_   
_  
**stupid**   
_   
_, don't I?" He finishes in despair, wiping his eyes off and smearing bloody water on his face._

 _"Let me help you," Blaine pleads again, looking at him with gentle tawny eyes. They hurt worse than getting laughed at, and it scares Kurt so badly that he looks away._

* * *

Kurt wakes up crying. He's still inexplicably frightened, and he checks for blood or scratches before he sends a text asking if Blaine's awake. (Of course he won't be, but he'd certainly wake up at the noise of a text alert.)

 _Can't sleep?_ comes the reply.

 _Had a bad dream._ He wonders if he should add an emoticon or "no big deal" to make it less depressing, but the look on dream-Blaine's face hits him again like a sword. He presses the send button.

 _Meet you in the junior's common room?_ Blaine asks, and just like that a bit of Kurt's fear comes back because he already assumes ( _knows_ ) that Kurt would want to talk about it face-to-face, because dreams are long and complicated even if they're short. Plus, talking is free and texting isn't.

Kurt picks up his coat and shrugs it on. A soft _clunk_ against his bedpost startles him - his lion pin fell off. He grimaces, scoops it up, and sticks it to his sleeve as a temporary fix.

* * *

In the least bastard-y way possible, David and Wes are using Kurt and Blaine's tapes as last-resort Psych material (David) or writing fodder (Wes). It starts with Wes asking if David could give him a second opinion on a story, which takes a minute for him to process. "Shit, dude, you _write_?"

Wes sighs. "Why does everyone _ask_ that?"

"Well, you're kind of -" Quiet, observant, and did he mention not that talkative even to his best friend? ...Never mind. "I don't know, I just never expected."

And he didn't expect Wes Kahale to write _urban fantasy_ of all things, but his stories are realistic without being "edgy" or "dark" like every other writer's been doing. The story is about unicorns - old-school unicorns, wild and powerful and _good_ without being wimpy bleeding-hearts. Wes' unicorns go undercover as humans to test people, and the protagonist (who is short and chivalrous like Blaine) lives with a troubled singer (whose blue-gray-green eyes sound suspiciously like Kurt's).

"Can I just say thank you for _not_ using 'emerald' or 'sapphire'?" David asks after finishing the first chapter. "'Cause dude, you're the one person who remembers there are _other_ shades of blue and green."

"I'm glad that having a good vocabulary is _so_ important," Wes drawls.

It's a little scary how Wes managed to nail the singer's psyche without even trying, because David asks after the fourth chapter: "Did Kurt or Blaine _say_ something to you? Because I've had suspicions about Kurt for a while." Wes looks at him like he's crazy, so David explains that bad dreams, flashbacks, and aversion to physical contact is _really_ common with abuse victims, especially the sexual kind, and how he's gotten those vibes from Kurt because as touchy-feely as he and Blaine are, Blaine always makes sure he has Kurt's permission and he never makes sudden movements.

In true Wes fashion, he thinks a moment before an "oh god" epiphany flits across his face. "Thanks, David - you've depressed me in the span of thirty seconds."

There's this theme of innocence running through the story - emotional purity versus physical virginity, where they blend and why they're distinct, how being damaged doesn't mean you're wrong or corrupted. It's awesome because there are _too_ many stories where rape victims never recover from their trauma, but he still can't believe that this is coming out of _Wes Kahale's_ head. When most people think of Wes writing, they think mystery or satire; something classic, biting, and (let's be honest) formulaic.

"What's with fantasy being more realistic than normal fiction?" He asks one day in the practice room, and Wes is about to answer before they see the VCR blinking. Maybe he should remove the trigger on some of the security cams-three out of five times, Kurt's just gone to the bathroom. The other two are suitably blackmail-worthy, which is really handy since tests are coming up and David hates English.

Wes tells him while he switches the TV on: "If the world isn't real, the characters have to be - otherwise nobody's going to read it."

"That's a fucking _paradox_ , man."

* * *

 _  
**Schmendrick turned on her, and his eyes were wild with helplessness. "What can I do? What can I do, with my magic? Hat tricks, penny tricks, or the one where I scramble stones to make an omelet? Would that entertain the Red Bull, do you think, or shall I try the trick with the singing oranges? I'll try anything you suggest, for I would certainly be happy to be of some practical use."**   
_

The door to the juniors' common room is open just a crack, and dim lamp-light shows through. Kurt pushes the door open; Blaine waves from the couch. "Hey."

"Hi." He plunks down next to Blaine. "You know, you didn't _have_ to offer to talk to me right away. I was a little out of it when I texted you."

"Exactly. If _you're_ still out of it when you wake up, I'm guessing it's not a normal "I forgot about a test" dream." The unasked question lingers between them; Blaine goes on. "Was it about your dad?"

Kurt shakes his head. "Completely different. Okay, first I was in a place that was like McKinley's choir room mixed with the Warblers' practice room. And it was dark, but I wasn't bothered because it..." He falters, but the song whispers unbidden: _I'll belong to you, if you just let me through._ "It felt like home."

Blaine's eyes are still soft and sleepy, but they sharpen as Kurt starts plunging through the details.

"Then I went too far, or crossed some line or something - and people start shoving me into lockers and practically flaying me alive. They just kept _laughing_ , and that hurt even worse than getting my skin shredded. I kept asking them to get off me, but they didn't because they knew I couldn't fight back. And the next part..." he reddens and takes a breath. "Please don't laugh. Or take it the wrong way."

"I won't." Of course he won't.

"Good enough." God, his face must be a signal flare. "I'm kind of... naked in a room with you. Only it's _really_ not that fun because I'm in excruciating pain from getting clawed up like a scratching post."

Blaine coughs self-consciously. "I imagine so."

"You were being an awesome boyfriend by asking to help, but I didn't want you to. I mean I _did_ , but I didn't because in that world getting touched was super-important, and you couldn't take it back once you did... or something. So you started singing a Dashboard Confessional song to win me over, and _it's been playing in my head since I woke up_." Kurt groans and rubs his face. "Can I just sing the part that won't leave? Maybe that'll get it out."

"Sure."

 _"I'll be true, I'll be useful, I'll be cavalier - I'll be yours, my dear. And I'll belong to you, if you just let me through."_ Pause. Kurt huffs because it didn't work.

"That's... so you mentioned you were nervous about getting touched?" Blaine was about to say something else, but Kurt is so embarrassed that he misses it.

"Yeah. Not like this -" He pokes an amused Blaine's forearm. "It's because you were asking to help. My priorities were _really_ screwed up, because I was focused on how I was stark naked and it was totally not how most people plan that situation. I was pretending you didn't notice but I knew you really wanted to help, and you just kept _looking_ at me, like..."

"Like...?" The tenor's voice is soft like a warm summer wind, and Kurt doesn't dare look at his face.

"Like _that_ , Blaine." Kurt clutches his jacket closed, but his clothes have become as thin as air. "Please stop."

His forehead furrows intently, but his eyes don't change - Kurt knows because he can feel them running him through. "Why did me being worried bother you?"

"Because you didn't _care_!" Kurt tries to keep his voice quiet, so it goes an octave higher instead. "You didn't care if I was mangled, naked, or in horrible pain, and you wouldn't in real life, and it _hurts_ when you look at me like that! I don't know why, but it hurts, and that _scares_ me!"

Blaine starts to move, but Kurt backs away and shakes his head.

"I know we said the gay-is-miserable stereotype is pointless, but it's _really_ hard to break because - I don't know, I'm a _freak_." _I'm on the right track, baby, I was born this way_. But this isn't the time for Lady Gaga, so he takes a breath and barely keeps going. Why is he shaking? "I'm a paranoid freak who acts like happiness is poison -"

"Kurt, _stop!_ " Blaine breaks in, and they wait in silence for seconds that feel like hours. His eyes are confused and dark, swirling like muddy water. "Just - stop, _please._ " He looks at him with big tawny eyes that are as wet as if he were the one flinching through dreams, dreading the next curfew and the next morning and whether everything would stay the same. "I'm so sorry, Kurt, I don't know why I did that."

Kurt knows that Blaine knows why - it's because Blaine is a broken teenager trying to fix someone else entirely - but he stumbles on with a voice like cracked glass. That makes Kurt relax, because he knows that this is not a dream.

"I'm _sorry_ ," he repeats helplessly. "I... I should say something like 'Don't worry, it's okay' and hug you, but you just said you were terrified of getting touched. Even if it was just a dream, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable and - _god_ , that sucks because you really need one right now. Laughing it off's out, we can't get coffee because everything's closed and we might get caught sneaking out, so... I'll just compromise. What do you want?"

And though he hears piercing laughter in the back of his head, Kurt tries to smile. All he can manage is a new-moon sliver of one, but it makes Blaine smile so it must be genuine. "Can you sing something? Not a lullaby, that's cheesy. Something - loud and emotional, something I need to focus on."

Blaine needs to think a moment, or maybe he's cuing the song in his head. _"Only daughter - you got your ticket too soon,"_ Kurt recognizes it - Paper Doll by Rachael Yamagata - because Blaine listens to his Soul/Blues/Jazz playlist when he's studying. _"Holy water - cause everybody's getting ruined..."_

Though he never sounds _bad_ , Kurt's struck by how different he sounds - smoky and inviting, cascading through embellishments like he's breathing. He never sings like this in rehearsal, and Kurt realizes it's because he never _has_ to. Which is a shame, since this is kind of awesome. (And Blaine just crooned out " _words like honey"_ in the most drop-dead-sexy voice ever, so he takes back the "kind of" and replaces "awesome" with " _the best thing ever_.")

They would have won the conservative _and_ the nun over if they'd replaced Pink's "Raise Your Glass" with something bluesy. How did the Warblers not realize this? Wes started making plans to sing RENT and Sweeney Todd the minute Kurt finished "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina."

At the last verse Blaine struggles to stay quiet, but his voice breaks loose with a vengeance. _"Oh, the bridge is narrow - you better not look down! 'Cause as soon as you jump over, you won't find nobody around!"_

Kurt wonders what he's feeling to sing like this, because he's never sounded or looked like he does now-body tight with rage, eyes burning gold, nearly screaming the words out. _"Oh, the bridge is narrow - and you've got so far to fall!"_

The tenor wrests back control, though more from exhaustion as he sighs out the last line: _"And you know, down in dirty water is no place for a paper doll."_

Kurt laughs when the song is done, surprising both of them. "You're not allowed to sing Katy Perry anymore."

"I don't know why I sang that." His face accepts the compliment, glowing like the morning sun, though his voice shrinks in embarrassment. "When you look at the words it sounds sad and mopey, but when you listen it's like, wow, why's she so _mad_? Then about a month after I came out, I understood because - Dad wanted my help fixing Mom's car, and... I realized he was trying to fix _me_ instead. Getting me to do all the messy parts, like dirt and oil magically turns you straight."

 _If that were the case, people could use_ _ **me**_ _as a_ _ **ruler**_ _,_ Kurt thinks, but does not speak.

Blaine takes a single step closer. "You always let me help you when you're awake. Why is it different when you're asleep?"

 _Let me help you._ Kurt panics, and he can feel the lie clawing its way from his mouth. "I don't know -"

Distant voices echo down the hallway, and Blaine whirls to shut the lamp off. They feel more than see the other's eyes as the person slowly draws near, with the wan hallway lights struggling to pass through the yawning doorframe.

They are somehow side-by-side in the darkness of the room - but then Blaine smiles, and Kurt smiles back, and they _run_.

* * *

Wes gazes at the screen as Kurt and Blaine hurtle out of the room and down the halls. "So, David - thoughts?"

"Christ, man, where was _Angry Nightclub Blaine_ at Regionals? We'd have had first place after everyone was done with their fucking _orgasms_!" David grouses.

"But you know we can't show the Warblers this."

"Can't we just skip the depressing parts and show Angry Nightclub Blaine?" He pleads. Wes looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and he groans. "Why do I _listen_ to you?"

"Because you love me," Wes deadpans. "And I'm the one who rewired the cameras."


	6. Prince Lir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** Please know that I _am_ from the San Francisco Bay Area in California, and the things said here are not meant seriously. I love it here, I swear! On terms of where this will end episode-wise, it will most likely end on "Born This Way" when Kurt goes back to McKinley. But fear not, gentle readers, for there _will_ be an epilogue!

_  
**"I stood by the strange cradle for a long time, pondering while the snow fell and the cats purred prophecy."**   
_

_  
**He stopped, and Molly said eagerly, "You took the child home with you, of course, and raised it as your own."**   
_

_  
**Drinn laid his hands palm up on the table. "I chased the cats away," he said, "and went home alone." Molly's face turned the color of mist.**   
_

Wes decides that he doesn't like Blaine's father, before they've even met, because Blaine never talks about him. He talks _to_ him, of course. There are references to "my parents" that most would accept as talking about. There are vaguely detailed red-herrings like "So Lydia called on her vacation and she accidentally sideswiped someone in Dad's car - god, I could _hear_ him yelling at her."

Blaine's mother is a dentist, a naturalized citizen for twenty-three years, and possibly a wrathful goddess considering how terrified Blaine gets at the thought of making her mad. Blaine's oldest sister Lydia is studying at the Academy of Art in San Francisco, and vehemently opposes Blaine coming to visit because of all the Catholics and conservatives. His brother Kyle tries to be there for him outside of photography shoots.

But Blaine's father is like an important prop - always there, frequently referenced, but never really doing anything.

* * *

Blaine makes the third call, praying aloud that someone picks up this time. Wes is starting to shiver in his drenched clothes, his breath as misty as the alcohol-induced fog in his brain, and David is barely coherent. Finally his face lights up, and words spill gratefully from Blaine's mouth.

"Dad? Dad, I need you to - oh. _Kyle_?" Under the surprise in Blaine's voice, there is disappointment - the old, weary kind, like this has happened before. "Dude. Promise you won't tell Mom about this?"

After fifty-thousand repetitions of that, just when Wes thinks he's dead of alcohol poisoning, a blessed change comes: "It wasn't me! It was Wes and his freaky 'predict the future with every bet he makes' thing! ...Okay, it sounds stupid when you put it _that_ way, but -"

"You freaking _traitor_!" Wes lunges over and punches him in the face. Or attempts to, since his fist meets air and he lands messily on the ground. Blaine's somehow five feet too far - does that mean he knows magic, like Harry Potter? _I knew it!_ He thinks triumphantly. _But why is the ground so wet? ...Right, the rain._

Blaine hauls him upright and drags him back to the bench.

"When did _you_ learn how to Apparate?" He asks. "You had to get Hermione to take you everywhere in Book Seven!"

"Not again." Blaine tells Kyle to wait. "Wes, I'm not Harry Potter. You're drunk and close to hypothermia, so what you think is magic is either the whiskey talking or hallucinations."

"I _knew_ there was a reason you're the only sober one!" Wes continues hotly. "Your dad's probably Sirius under Polyjuice Potion or - no, Sirius would've come on his awesome flying motorcycle or fricking _Buckbeak_ by now. Your dad is Uncle Vernon because he's such a bastard -"

"Oh my god, Wes, where did you _get_ that from?"

"- bet you're only getting good grades to keep him from getting _worse_." He finishes. "If you forget the homework for Stahl's class, I'll totally let you paraphrase my stuff or something! I am _not_ giving Vernon another reason to lock you up!"

Blaine gives him a flabbergasted look and after a moment, he runs his hands through his hair. With the gel washed off in the rain, it's obscenely curly - ie _messy_ , like a certain Boy Who Lived. "Why can't you be a quiet, sobbing drunk? Or at least cooperative like David?"

"I love you, too, dude," David slurs at the mention of his name. "Not in the -"

" _David_ \- you've said that, like, eight times already!"

"You're so right, it doesn't even _need_ saying."

" _See?_ Cooperative!" Blaine points in emphasis as David dissolves into content laughter, then goes back to his phone. "Okay, so you _won't_ tell Mom?" His face falls. "Kyle, please stop laughing."

"He's totally Sirius in disguise," Wes insists. "Vernon's exploiting the no-magic-in-front-of-Muggles rule, but Sirius is cool so he's gonna -" Another frustrated groan, and Wes shuts up because he doesn't want to be the recipient of one of Harry's bottled-up angry rants.

Half an hour later Kyle arrives in his Mustang, and the three of them stagger into the back. David needs Blaine to put his seatbelt on, and they don't head back to Dalton for ten minutes because Kyle's laughing so hard.

"Wait..." Wes says, and realizes something awful. "Wait, Harry, does this mean you're not actually gay?"

"Wes, we said to never talk about Rachel's party - oh **.** " He takes a breath and lets it out. "I'm _not_ Harry Potter and I'm gayer than Elton John."

"BRIT! Americans would say Neil Patrick Harris or John Barrowman!" Wes says, and realizes something awful (again). "So you _are_ only leading Kurt on? Oh my god Harry, you can't _do_ that to him! He's got enough to be miserable about!"

Blaine's eye twitches. " _Regardless_ of what my name is, will you please listen to me? _I. Like. Dudes._ Especially Kurt, my _boyfriend_ , whom I am _not_ leading on and am _very_ happy with!"

The feeling has returned to Wes' fingers, and he flexes them carefully as David speaks. "This explains why you're such a gentleman. 'Cause one - you're British. Two - you had a shit life, and three - you have to go back to Vernon's every summer because Sirius is still a fugitive. Dude," he adds to Kyle, "you don't have to worry about Obliviating us because we won't remember anything anyway."

"Not you, too!" Blaine practically tears his hair out as Kyle shuts the engine off for another fit of laughter. " _I'm not Harry Potter!_ I know Dad isn't the most accepting guy alive, but not everyone's parents are like Mr. Hummel! And he's not _that_ bad! Right, Kyle?"

Kyle is suddenly quiet, and Blaine repeats the question. His voice is fierce, but his eyes betray him with desperate hope. _"Right?"_

"He could be worse," the photographer says; Blaine leaves him alone, but he is still disappointed. Kyle leans over and grips his shoulder in a peace offering, though his laugh is thinner than mist. "Don't take them too seriously, little bro. They think you're _Harry Potter_ , for Christ's sake."

"You're only fine because they think _you're_ Sirius Black," Blaine counters, but the hurt in his voice is not from who's compared to which fictional character. It is from not getting the answer he wants, and one that opens an old wound instead. One that didn't heal properly, but well enough that Blaine can walk and sing and avoid it every morning.

Wes imagines what goes on under that hair: _Hi, I'm Blaine! My dad doesn't abuse me, he just doesn't_ _ **do**_ _anything with me anymore! Luckily I have my mature and considerate friends, Wes and David, to fill the emotional void! Wes is especially awesome because he never tells anyone I stay up staring at photos from when my dad wasn't an estranged jackass! Sometimes Wes finds me asleep on the floor like a puppy waiting for my owner/dad to come back from that dumpster/private school he left me in, and now I'm busy taking care of Kurt because seriously guys, it's_ _ **not that bad**_ _-_

"SHUT UP!"

"Oh god, you _heard_ that?" He flounders in terror - sweet god, he promised not to tell anyone! He needs to apologize before Blaine kills him or has an aneurysm-

"Wes, _Legilimency isn't real_. I can't hear your thoughts, and you can't hear mine." Blaine tells him, then turns away. "David, I get that you 'love me but not in the gay way.' _Stop. Saying. It_."

And Wes is grateful that David's short-term memory is nonexistent at the moment, but there's a coldness in his bones that has nothing to do with the rain.

* * *

 _  
**"They deserve their fate, they deserve worse. To leave a child out in the snow-"**   
_

_  
**"Well, if they hadn't, he couldn't have grown up to be a prince. Haven't you ever been in a fairy tale before?"**   
_

Kurt wonders what Blaine's dad is like, and why Blaine never really talks about him. Wes and David don't like him - they don't say it aloud, and Blaine is thankfully too oblivious to notice, but on the occasions he mentions something about his dad, Wes' mouth thins and David's hands curl like he's about to crack his knuckles.

He doesn't really _want_ to know what Blaine's dad is like, though. He'd rather continue assuming that he's scum of the earth, because otherwise it means Blaine has no _reason_ to be so polite and upstanding and considerate. And he knows this is real life and people don't always have a reason for being what they are, but he still feels stupid for being afraid to have his fairy-tale romance brought down into normal, everyday _life_.

Then he wonders where he would be right now if he hadn't been feeling so lonely, so sick of McKinley, so tired of having to hide things from his friends. Because as selfish as they seemed on the outside, worrying more about Prom Queen and glee club and who got which solo as opposed to "why is Kurt so down lately," he kind of likes that they don't have very big problems. They don't deserve the weight on their chests that Kurt has (even if Rachel and Santana come really, really close).

Blaine finds him on a couch in the sophomore's common room, trawling Google at lunch on Friday. "What're you doing?"

He shrugs. "Looking for Dalton's website. It's weird that I haven't seen it before." As he clicks and types, types and clicks, Kurt is increasingly worried that 'Dalton Academy, Ohio,' 'Dalton school for boys,' and even 'private schools in Ohio' aren't getting any results, but then Blaine gives an embarrassed laugh and types 'Ohio schools.' Dalton Academy is the first result. Now Kurt feels kind of stupid, but he takes solace in the fact that he'd have given up and typed that in eventually.

There it is, right on the home page: A pink triangle in a green circle.

Blaine looks at it with a strange expression on his face. "My sister Lydia goes to the Academy of Art in San Francisco, but she takes some classes at a community college - Laney College, in Oakland. Those signs are on every bulletin board they can find."

"Really? It's _California_ , though."

"That's what I said, too." Blaine laughs, but a little sadly.

"Did you want to pack up and head to greener pastures?" Kurt teases, though inwardly he's a little frightened - how would he have met Blaine if he hadn't been at Dalton? It's not like Blaine doesn't have the money to go to California. "Or _golden_ , more like."

"California's the most Catholic state besides the Vatican," Blaine says, "and half of Lydia's classmates make jokes when the teachers can't hear them. 'We need more designers, let's scope out the Pride Parade' or 'I'm not going to be a model for the art classes, I might turn some of them on.' That sort of thing. So it's not much better than here," he finishes apologetically.

"She doesn't stop them?" Part of Kurt's indignance is from his usual 'don't just sit there and take it' response, and part is from the shattering of his expectations.

"She tries." He shrugs and sighs. "When she told Mom, she said Lydia was being too sensitive, so now _she_ jokes about Lydia getting overprotective. Like, 'Lydia, I hope you didn't get into any fights this month about Blaine.'"

" _What?_ " He asks. Blaine's mimicked patronizing is frightfully real, but Kurt's _met_ his mom before! She had to take him to the hospital for a checkup, but she was completely civil and she said Kurt's skin was perfect, and now Kurt knows why Blaine is so short because Mrs. Anderson is Rachel's height.

"She taught us not to complain!" Blaine explains defensively; when Kurt gives a blank (and still mortified) stare, he chases the words down. "Okay, so Mom's _really_ traditional. A lot of older Asians have this mentality that if you're not sick or literally hurt, there's nothing wrong. Mom said -" he stops. "Never mind. It... it's hard for most people to understand if they're not Asian or -" he chuckles, distracted at something, "or British."

"Try me," Kurt offers.

"Mom said that the only reason I got bullied was because they knew I'd complain about it," he begins, and that is understandable. "And that if I ever got teased or made fun of again, I should do it back instead of just ignore it, or figure out why they're doing it so that I can help them instead."

"Wait, wait, wait," Kurt says as things click together in his head. Blaine's suicidal attempt to out Karofsky makes sense now. "So is that -"

"This is why I don't _tell_ people." Blaine halts the discussion at the sight of Kurt's face, twisting his hands. "They'll connect it to something stupid I did and go, 'Blaine, why do you listen to her if you _know_ she's old-fashioned?' I can't _not_ listen to her! She'll just think I'm being a teenager and she'll guilt-trip me into things for the next week." He continues fidgeting - a nervous, undignified, _young_ action that never fails to surprise Kurt.

 _He doesn't do that in public,_ he realizes. There is something he likes about that, but Kurt's own hands start twitching. How has Blaine not broken all his fingers yet? He reaches over and tugs him onto the couch. "You need one of those puzzle rings or something."

Blaine laughs and curls his free hand up in embarrassment. His hands aren't delicate like Kurt's; even piano-playing ends up tightening the muscles into wire. But they're big and soft and warm. "So, why were you looking for Dalton's site?"

He sighs. "I can't remember." But he does, so he scans the home page more casually than he feels.

 _This place_

 _  
**RESPECTS**   
_

_all aspects of people, including race, ethnicity, gender expression, sexual orientation, socio-economic background, age, religion, and ability._

And as he heads over to Facebook, Kurt feels selfish about being relieved.


	7. The Lady Amalthea

_  
**"It will be curious," he said, "to have a creature in the castle whose presence causes Lir to call me 'father' for the first time since he was five years old."**   
_

_  
**"Six," Lir said. "I was six."**   
_

_  
**"Five or six," the king said, "it had stopped making me happy long before, and it does not make me happy now."**   
_

The Warblers take a week off after exams finish. On one hand, even the free time seems to be a time-honored tradition since the 1940s (when the teachers smoking meant a lot of the Warblers' lung capacities were diminished from the secondhand smoke, as Wes explains). On the other hand, Kurt can change out of his Dalton uniform two hours earlier.

They go to Blaine's house - okay, _giant freaking mansion_ \- and getting there is a quick drive in Kurt's Navigator. A few yards away from the gate, he needs to switch places with Blaine because the gate is voice-activated.

Through the iron gate with its imposing patina ("It's looked like that since I was born."); down the driveway that has to be a hundred feet long ("You're so appreciative of the little things," Wes says); and finally to the entrance where Blaine rings the bell. The conversation turns to various school things, but the Warblers are off-limits because as David explains, "I am _not_ talking about that on my week off unless I can get a date off it. I'm not gay, and you're all taken."

Presently they see someone's silhouette through the misted windows. "There's Greg," Blaine muses aloud - but then the door opens, and his father is on the other side. Kurt knows this is Blaine's father because in spite of his height, he has Blaine's sloping shoulders and curly hair - or perhaps it should be reversed. In place of Blaine's jet-black is greying brown, and it seems that the rest of him is greying like driftwood.

"Blaine?" He asks, and his voice rolls out like a young man's.

"Hi, Dad!" Blaine smiles, and he is the only one; Kurt is still unsure what to think, while David and Wes are carefully neutral. "I thought you had a meeting?"

"We had to leave early - Colin's wife went into labor and it's no use going on without him."

"Oh, that sucks." Blaine remarks, the smile on his face dimming in concern.

"Yes, but we knew it was coming. He'll email us as soon as he can." He turns to Wes and David, who wave politely and without feeling. "Hello, you two. Thank god the renovations are done; I have no intention of getting laughed at by paramedics again."

"It won't happen again, sir," Wes tells him. "And it was David's idea," he adds.

Mr. Anderson laughs, and then he catches sight of Kurt. "And you are?"

"Kurt Hummel, Mr. Anderson. Nice to meet you." He smiles and shakes the man's hand more firmly than he usually does. Though he spots pleasant surprise in the fading green eyes, he does not say anything else.

"Oh, _Kurt_. You're Blaine's friend, right?" He asks with no telltale pauses or almost-grimaces. Again Kurt is confused as to why Wes and David don't like him, because he is being perfectly civil. But those two tend to exaggerate things, and Blaine hasn't mentioned anything like what happened when he first came out; maybe his father just needed to get used to it.

"Boyfriend, Dad," Blaine corrects, and another surprise flickers on the man's face.

"Huh - you didn't say anything."

"I wanted to tell you in person," Blaine says, but underneath the casual tone is a wisp of plaintiveness. "You know, since your hours are getting all weird again," he goes on with carefully calibrated sheepishness. "I didn't want to call you in the middle of a meeting or anything."

"Well, come inside." He ushers them in. Blaine makes a show of letting Kurt go in first, and David rolls his eyes.

"Blaine, pace yourself when you show normal people your house - Kurt was impressed by your _driveway_. Remember when you brought Martin here and he passed out when he saw your theater?"

Wes scoffs. "I can imagine why - your collection goes all the way back to the _nineteen-twenties_. Lydia's is better if you don't want to spend an hour looking for something to watch."

"It goes back to _when_ and _whose_ is better?" Kurt demands, but Blaine gives a high-pitched bark of a laugh and shuts the door.

"We're inside now!" He says helpfully. Faced with Blaine's glittering smile and the obviousness of that statement, Kurt is just a little bit more in love with him.

* * *

The mansion is gloomy, a far cry from its well-kept exterior. Dalton is dark, but it is a dreamy darkness melted by sconces and cove lights. Here the light shears off corners, turns shadows into sinkholes, and throws everything into relentless detail. The bends are claustrophobic, as if the builders took "tunnel vision" to heart, and for a moment Kurt wonders if this is why Blaine always climbs furniture in Dalton - to avoid the shadows and keep the walls from closing in.

Then he scoffs inside. _He jumps on furniture because he's an adorable nerd_. Sometimes he wonders if he's too dramatic.

After the fifth turn and nothing else to use as a reference point, Kurt is very confused. More troubling is the fact that Blaine's commentary has died off, leaving only Wes and David's unusually strained small talk. Normally they can talk everyone else to madness, but as hard as they try in this place, the words get swallowed by gaping shadows or charred to nothing by the harsh light.

"Your house is a TARDIS," Wes accuses as a last resort, jolting Blaine back into his usual mood.

"Come on, Wes, it's not _that_ bad."

There is something sad in Wes' face, but it's gone before Kurt can pin it down. "That's because you live in it. You're automatically exempt from realizing what a maze it is."

Blaine shakes his head and turns to Kurt. "My house isn't a _maze_ , is it?"

"Uh..." He has no idea when he's going to see daylight again, and it's gotten about ten times darker now that there are no more windows. "It's a little confusing."

"Trust you to ask _your boyfriend_ for an opinion," David drawls. Blaine's dad opens a door. In the white room are armchairs flanking a couch, a flatscreen TV mounted on the wall, and a coffee table. The light pouring in through the wide-open curtains makes Kurt's eyes hurt, and the bare-bones furniture in such a big room makes it seem as good as empty.

But it is not a bad room; it just needs more details. Like paintings, or random knick-knacks, and little signs of life. "Okay - this room is the size of my house's first floor," he says, to another laugh from Blaine.

"It's my theater," he tells him "You spent five months at Dalton and you're _still_ impressed by my house?"

"Yeah, but it's a school. It's _supposed_ to be huge." He sits down on the couch, which is comfortably worn. Blaine sits down, several inches away, while Wes and David drop their things and sink into the armchairs. "So is this your theater? It's nice, but I don't feel _quite_ like I'm -"

"Right, movies!" Blaine gets up and fishes in his bag. He finds a key, walks up to the TV, and sticks it in the wall to its left. As he turns it, a tiny click echoes in the room. He sets his fingers in a crack and swings the wall aside to reveal several stacks of DVDs.

Kurt's eyes go wide, and he's pretty sure his jaw drops and rolls onto the floor. "Your theater has secret compartments."

"Yeah, some of my movies are hard to find, so we can't have them out in the open." Blaine opens another compartment to reveal speakers.

"Your _theater_ has _secret compartments_ ," he repeats numbly, voice ragged with shock, and now the other three are alarmed.

"Kurt, are you all right?" Blaine's father asks.

"Blaine, man - do _not_ say anything else," David warns the tenor. "This is when Martin passed out last time. Remember?"

"Don't worry, I'm starting with the modern movies first," he assures, to the opposite effect. Wes and David facepalm, so Blaine tiptoes over for a closer look at him. "Kurt, you okay?"

He inhales and exhales. Silence stretches taut while Blaine fidgets with his hands, but Kurt answers presently in a shaky voice. "I might need a couple more minutes to relocate my jaw, but I'm good."

With the danger over, Wes and David start an argument for what movie to watch. Blaine waits for them to decide, but he keeps stealing looks at Kurt and twisting his fingers together.

A laugh wells up. They look to see an older Blaine, down to the sheepish half-smile, and he seems the picture of a nostalgic father - but he is just as faded as ever, and the smile drains away too quickly. "You're doing your hand thing again," Blaine's father tells him. "I haven't seen that since you were... twelve, I think."

"Thirteen." Blaine stops, self-conscious, and sits by Kurt. If he were less concerned with decorum, he'd be sitting on his hands. "And I never _stopped_ , Dad; you just don't see it 'cause I'm gone most of the week." Blaine slips into the role of annoyed teenager, though Kurt knows that he's lying because Wes and David are caught off-guard.

"All right," he says lightly, as routine as Blaine's annoyance, but his phone beeps. "And -" he grimaces, "- Colin's putting Rick in charge. Which means unofficially, _I'm_ in charge." He sighs. "I have to go; preemptive damage control."

Blaine lets him leave without bothering to say goodbye, and he leans into Kurt like the whiteness of the room hurts him.

"Boondock Saints!" David's voice startles them, and he waves the DVD case at them.

"Hmm?" Kurt asks, to surprised resignation from the council member.

"Practically _everyone's_ watched The Boondock Saints, Kurt."

"'Practically' being the key word," Kurt answers, slightly affronted. "I tend more towards musicals, period pieces, and... _not_ bloody action movies."

"It has shirtless Irish twins," David tells him.

"Done." He takes on the hormone-addled teen's role while David puts the movie on. "Is your dad always this busy?" He asks.

"Just for this time of year. He works on the city council."

"No wonder," Kurt says, thinking about his own father and how he always tries to put Kurt and Finn first. Blaine eyes him: Most of his expression is surprise, a little bit is hurt, and a tiny thread of it is envy.

"About what?"

"Nobody with your level of dorkiness can have a _normal_ dad. I knew you were rebelling against something." But Kurt curls his arm around Blaine's in apology.

* * *

 _  
**"No, he does not want my thoughts," she said softly. "He wants me, as much as the Red Bull did, and with no more understanding. But he frightens me even more than the Red Bull, because he has a kind heart."**   
_

David wakes up at ten in the morning to his phone's ringtone. He groans and fumbles for it, rubbing his eyes. _I Fucked Up Again, Please Help._ "What happened now, Blaine?" he asks blearily.

 _"Where the hell were you? I've called like, three times - wait. Were you still_   
_  
**asleep**   
_   
_?"_

"It's Saturday," he points out. "Waking up before eight is against my religion."

 _"Never mind."_ Footsteps echo faintly from Blaine's end - he must be pacing. _"I kind of screwed up and I think..."_

He can't deal with Blaine's latest imaginary fuck-up this early in the morning. Kurt and Blaine are a Lifetime couple, damn it - soul-crushing misery, making everyone go 'Make the fuck out already!', the absurd catastrophe that brings them together, and finally the fairytale happy ending that gives people diabetes. This is supposed to be the happy ending! "You already _gave_ me diabetes, man."

 _"- not sure why because... what?"_

"Forget that, it was a dream." David sighs. "Give me ten minutes. I'll meet you in the courtyard."

So it turns out there was a botched makeout session or something, and at first David shrugs it off as another of Blaine's chivalrous panic attacks. He knows Kurt isn't that big on touching or intimacy, but Blaine's putting so little pressure on him that _David_ feels like jumping Blaine sometimes. He gives the tenor slack and says "You ever think of talking to _Kurt_ about it?" instead of saying so. A couple hours later he gets a text from _Horrible Spy_ (Kurt).

 _I think I screwed something up - Blaine just talked to me about respecting my boundaries. While reassuring, I have no idea why he did that because we already talked about it._ Before David can text him back or finish reading, Kurt sends another one. _Actually, I do. Where are you?_

 _Courtyard._ Damn it, that boy info-dumps on _texts_. He really _would_ be a horrible spy.

* * *

They head to a cafe close to campus, a hole-in-the-wall with great coffee and open-minded staff, where David spends the wait for their drinks gearing up to get all of Kurt's story in one go. How does Blaine keep up with him? ...Right, love.

"So tell me why talking to Blaine made things worse, because usually it does the _opposite_." David takes a sip of coffee. Here it comes:

"So we were in the juniors' common room -"

 _"Practicing?"_ He can't help but grin.

"I get it, you posted the video on Facebook and I will never live it down. How did you steal a _surveillance tape_?" Kurt asks, then goes on without missing a beat. "But yes, we were _practicing_ , and then I heard a door slam, or a window... and I just - _froze_. Naturally that freaked Blaine out -"

Is Kurt saying that something _triggered a bad memory? Oh god_ , why is David right about these things?

"- awkward but heartful talk at lunch about boundaries, meaning he thinks I'm a broken little bird with crippling trauma, and that leads us _here_." Kurt hides behind his coffee, not that it hides how red his face is.

At least Kurt isn't _that_ much of a Lifetime character. Then again he might be downplaying things, and it's really hard to tell with Kurt. "Why _did_ you freeze?"

"It sounded like a _dumpster_ ," Kurt spills out. "The one the football team kept throwing me into. I had this... _flashback_ or something, and I felt like running for some reason. Okay, Blaine was sort of - _on_ me. That might have been why." He sips his drink and conveniently misses the flash of horror on David's face. "But you know, it was a really weird coincidence! It's probably never going to happen again."

"Do you really think that?" No matter what Kurt says, David knows the real answer.

"Are you kidding? No." He shows no fear in his face or body - the hands on the table or on his coffee are neither shaking nor white-knuckled, his shoulders are straight as ever, and there is no quivering nor razor-thin mouth. But his voice and his eyes are terrified, and soon his face crumples miserably. "It's not supposed to be this way."

He knows what Kurt's talking about, but he asks for the sake of appearance. "What's not?"

"I spent months dropping the most blatant hints I could think of and the day I stopped trying, Blaine finally got a clue," he says, to a solemn nod from David. "I _like_ my life now. I don't need a spare change of clothes every day, I'm not getting body-checked into lockers, and _I have a boyfriend_." There is a brief, raw wonder in his voice that makes him look impossibly young. As adorable as he is, it also makes David's chest hurt. "He's thoughtful and gorgeous and kind of dorky underneath the knight-in-shining-armor attitude, and I can actually _talk_ to him."

David waits for the rest, and shifts his bag under the table as someone squeezes past.

"I shouldn't be _scared_ anymore." He keeps his voice normal, but that can't hide what he isn't saying. "I shouldn't be scared that he'll _vanish_ , or break up with me, or say - 'Hey, I'm sick of taking things slow and if you're not ready, too bad.' I keep telling myself that none of that will happen because honestly, I get really dramatic sometimes, but then _this_ happens and I'm back to square one."

It occurs to David that nobody knows anyone like Kurt and Blaine - not _together_ , not Kurt _and_ Blaine. He knows a lot of perfectionists and a lot of bullying victims because Dalton has a habit of attracting them. Everyone thinks that broken people need someone whole; it sounds logical, because you can't fix something if you don't know how it should work. But emotionally it doesn't, because you can't fix something if you don't know how it was broken.

He swallows his lukewarm coffee and tries to keep his emotions off his face. "Life doesn't work that way, Kurt," he says gently.

"Well, it _should_ ," Kurt insists bitterly, before a shadow in the doorway catches both the boys' attention. "Blaine?"

"Hi." Blaine straightens and tries not to twist his fingers together. "I was hoping to just... sit tight and let this blow over, but I know you don't do that. Or you _might_ , but you wouldn't be happy about it. So I looked around, and now I'm here."

"I'm heading off - forgot about a paper," David tells them, and they give cursory nods. He stops to refill his coffee, and steals a glance at them from the counter.

It is written on Kurt's face that he'd rather not be here, and he sits as white as a statue. But he stays because Blaine is equally unwilling, and only doing this because he knows ( _loves_ ) Kurt. And now David _understands_ why Kurt holds everyone at arm's length, and why he put up with Blaine's obliviousness for months. Why Blaine is so careful when he touches him, or doesn't touch him, and why he is so terrified when Kurt loses control. And he knows that on some level, both of them must know this too.

He wonders if these two know what the other knows about the other.

Kurt leans against Blaine with the expression of someone in pain, and David strains to catch what he says. _"... gonna sound stupid, aren't I?"_

The barista is also eavesdropping as David hands him a five.

 _"Don't worry,"_ Blaine says. David sticks the change in his pocket.

"You guys go to Dalton, right?" the barista asks. David nods. "I'm assuming they're the two everyone was talking about for a while?"

"It took _four months_ for Blaine to get the flashing neon hints," David tells him, with a dramatic sigh that is not entirely fake. "We were gonna lock them in a room together if he didn't man up soon."

"'Man up' means 'take a risk,'" he points out. "Did you mean ' _wise_ up'?"

"I meant... both, actually," David admits. He tests his coffee; freshly made and too hot. "As stupid as Blaine gets sometimes, he has a worse problem with being too careful. Kurt just _does_ things. He's like _Batman_ \- spoiled little countertenor by day, vengeance-filled mastermind by night."

The man laughs. "You don't see couples like those two much."

"Nope." He looks again. Blaine talks very tentatively, and he waits for Kurt's response like he's awaiting a death sentence. Kurt speaks gently, but it still makes Blaine flinch. Considering Kurt just poured out all his insecurities to David a few minutes ago, Blaine is the one acting vulnerable.

For some reason David remembers his History class is going through medieval times, and the code of chivalry flashes into his head - the part about courage.

 _Being a knight often means choosing the more difficult path, the personally expensive one. Be prepared to make sacrifices in service of the precepts and people you value._

He was the first to joke that "This is _Blaine_ , it's fucking _scary,_ " to resounding agreement (and a warning for swearing in class), but now it makes him sad.


	8. The Quest

_  
**I will love you as long as I can,**   
**However long that may be.**   
**Others may offer all that they can give,**   
**All that they have for as long as they live,**   
**But I will love you as long as I can,  
And never ask if you love me.**   
_

* * *

So Kurt and Blaine went to the New Directions' benefit concert, which Kurt nostalgically describes as a disaster at the next rehearsal. And when he says that Blaine nearly picked a fight with the football player who'd been bullying Kurt, Nick is the first to burst into laughter at the image. Soon after, an unhealthy amount of the Warblers join in. Meaning, all twenty-two of them (except for Wes, whose equivalent is a grin).

"Why did you mention _that_?" Blaine asks, barely audible and beet-red.

"It was sweet!" Kurt stifles his own laughter.

"It was _stupid_! You said so yourself - 'Blaine, why are you suddenly suicidal and why didn't you tell me?'" He repeats to Kurt while he attempts to sink into the couch. Or turn invisible, whichever comes first.

"Well, maybe I changed my mind," he explains. A grin spreads across his face like cracks in ice. "And I didn't know they'd go into hysterics - actually, I knew _Nick_ would, but not everyone else."

"Did you have to tell them in the middle of rehearsal?" He continues futilely.

"It's our seven-minute break!" Kurt argues, before the last of his smile cracks through and he breaks into laughter. Blaine sighs and refuses to talk the rest of the day.

As the days wear on, everyone notices that Kurt's voice is losing something. But he is still note-perfect; they can still pick his voice out no matter how intricate the harmonies, and he is still vibrant and emotional during solos. There is nothing _wrong_ with Kurt's voice, and yet that itself means something is missing. It is a maddening paradox that nobody can put into words, but everyone can see as plain as day.

"Good job, everyone. But," Thad glances at the records, "Chris informed me the piano is a quarter-step off - we'll ask Mr. Horwitz to get it tuned, preferably by Monday and no later than Wednesday."

"Fuck, that means we've been flat for God knows how long!" David groans and rubs his temples. Three - two - one.

"I _knew_ it!" Brandon yells triumphantly. "Who has perfect pitch and doesn't get listened to enough? _ME_!"

"That's because perfect pitch only applies to solos. Half of the time we can't be sure whether you're legitimately hearing a problem, or getting thrown off by the harmonies," Thad reminds him.

A chorus of Warblers ring out (" _Burn_!", "Served!", and " _Damn_ , Thad!"); Brandon sinks in his seat with annoyance.

"Also, Martin: Stop drinking soda right before rehearsals," David continues. "It's making you clear your throat too much and we are _not_ losing a Warbler to such a preventable bad habit."

The talk goes on. Now that the Warblers no longer rely just on Blaine, he and Kurt sit in an armchair to the side (yes, _one_ armchair - it's as sickeningly sweet as it sounds) and listen at their own pace. The others squabble about minutiae - all of them but Wes, who sits and taps out harmonies with his gavel. Now and then he gives a decisive, obvious solution that they somehow forgot about in their need to prove themselves right.

If they had been watching, they would have noticed Kurt and Blaine slowly steeling themselves as the hour winds down. But they do not, and when David looks up to see them still there, he is surprised. "What's up, guys?"

"I might need to transfer back to McKinley soon," Kurt says.

" _Holy fuck_ , that came out of nowhere!" David doesn't know when he stood up or how his binder fell off the table, but he picks the loose papers up and crams them back in to calm down. The only reaction from Wes is a hard, forceful blink, and the knuckles on his gavel going white.

"Well, I've been talking about it with my family and we can't keep this up much longer," Kurt apologizes.

"Kurt, you shouldn't go back there - didn't someone say he'd _kill_ you?" Thad points out. "There are scholarships -"

"Those only cover the ones who are _really_ strapped for cash," Kurt says with the weariness of exhausting all his options. "Both my parents are working and I've already got the scholarship for boarding."

"If you only need help with tuition -" David begins, but Kurt stops him with eyes harder than ice.

"If the next words out of your mouth are 'I'll lend you some money,' then no."

This can only mean that he's said it many, many times before, possibly to Blaine. David feels a little betrayed, but not surprised. He looks at Wes, who is as blindsided as he is, and Kurt tries to amend it.

"It's not like everything's set in stone, though. Dad's still worried, too - _I_ was the one who suggested transferring back." He checks his phone for the time. "Neither of us are giving in yet. I'll get back to you in a month or two; Dad's stubborn."

David tries to say something, and it takes a minute. "Is... is that it, Kurt?"

"Pretty much." Kurt shifts his bag and turns to leave. "See you tomorrow."

David can't help but glare at Blaine, who has been quiet the whole time and suspiciously absent from Kurt's story. "Dude. When's the part where you reminded him there are two things Dalton has going for it? Meaning, he's not getting death threats from homophobes, and -" he pauses for effect. "Oh hi, Blaine, how's _your boyfriend_ doing?"

"Well." Blaine shifts halfheartedly and then goes still, like he won't even bother being nervous anymore. "He _does_ need to be safe, but - why are you asking _me_?"

"Because Kurt already left?" Wes points out.

"And we are rather opposed to him becoming Hate-Crime Victim #645?" Thad asks, hoping to get a reaction, but Blaine sighs.

"Yeah, but I'm not..."

David sorts his papers back into haphazard order, more to distract himself than to organize. Wes gives a sigh of his own and says, "You can't be _serious_ , Blaine. You're letting him transfer back?"

Blaine is about to correct them out of habit, then reddens and looks down. "If he decides to."

"Why are you being such a pushover?" Wes demands, and to their relief Blaine is indignant.

"Wes, you've been watching too many rom-coms with Lacey!" he snaps, but it is more tired than angry. "I can keep telling him he's safer at Dalton, and he _is_ going to miss everyone here, but I can't make him stay just for me!"

 _Fuck, he's onto us!_ David thinks frantically. "The hell gave you _that_ idea, Blaine?" He asks with very convincing calm.

"There are two reasons Kurt should stay at Dalton," he throws it back in their faces, seething. "No homophobia and _me_. _I'm_ letting him transfer back, like _I_ have final say over what Kurt does. Not, I don't know, his family or the school. Or maybe _Kurt_ should decide what happens to him, isn't that a crazy idea? This isn't a _movie,_ guys!" He storms out before they can feel guilty.

They look at each other cautiously, sitting in silence; then David puts his head on the desk with a groan.

"When did Blaine get _smart_?" Thad asks, disoriented at the turn of events.

David rubs his temples. "Time for _reverse_ psychology. They're both suckers for proving everyone wrong in the face of adversity. If _we_ pretend we're fine with it and say we just needed to get used to the idea - because seriously, that was out of the goddamn blue - then Blaine will get second thoughts and make his _real_ decision. And they will live happily ever _fucking_ after."

But they know that Blaine will not, and he already has, and no ending they choose will really be happy.

* * *

 _Blaine looks down from a tower at Kurt, and suddenly everything shifts to the memory of when he first saw him on the staircase. He sees something vast in Kurt's eyes, like the sea and sky melding into the horizon, and it gives him the same painful happiness._

 _Blaine looks at his pocket watch and throws it away, because he's been asleep so long that he might as well have been dead. He misses all the lost opportunities - but Kurt's here now, so that doesn't matter anymore._

"You threw away your _watch_?" Kurt asks at lunch, with a bit of a laugh.

"Yeah, I kept thinking how I was... sleeping too long, or something?" Blaine strains to remember it more clearly, then shrugs. "It was right before my alarm went off."

"And you're telling us this _why_?" David asks, but he shakes his head. "Never mind, Kurt was in it."

* * *

 _He fights a dragon on a white horse. The smell around him is a lit fireplace in winter, with notes of molten rock and inspiration. The dragon hisses and flares its wings, the way dragons do when they're about to breathe fire. Blaine urges his horse into a gallop, but the fire comes and he's spilling to the ground in burning-red armor while his horse screams and flails._

 _But there is no time to check his horse's charred legs, because the dragon is coming at them. He aims his lance for that shifting spot on its belly._

 _When it's over he drags the dragon's head into his house to Kurt with a weary, triumphant grin. "Look! It's the fifth one!" But Kurt does, and it becomes a sloppy mess of teeth and eyes. Kurt looks at him, too, and he fights the urge to twist his hands because now he feels sorry for killing it._

 _Maybe Kurt wants to know the story; Blaine spends more time on the people who begged him for help and the journey to the dragon's cave, not that Kurt is listening. But when he gets to the part where the dragon burned his horse, Kurt finally comes back from wherever he is. "Where is he?" he demands._

 _"In the stables. Why?"_

 _"I feel like a pony ride," Kurt says, and scoffs at Blaine's confusion. "No, I need to see your horse."_

 _They are at the stables where the horse lies painfully on bloody straw. He watches Kurt with the white of one eye showing, and Kurt puts a hand on one leg. He stops moaning, when all everyone else did made him cry or scream louder, and Blaine waits with hushed expectancy._

 _But nothing happens in that moment, or the next, or the next, and as the chain of moments drags along a ball of silence, Kurt gives a sob. He takes his hand off Blaine's horse like the burns hurt him as well, and he runs._

 _The horse dies. Blaine can't tell Kurt, or decide not to tell him, because he can't even find him._

"Your dreams are fucking _buzzkills_ lately," David tells him while they study. "Is Kurt talking about transferring again?"

"What's that have to do with things?" Blaine argues, finishing the math problem he's working on.

"A lot. Dying? Nothing you do is right? You fucking _lose Kurt_ in your own house?" David points out. "And don't _make_ me tell you what dead horses mean." Blaine huffs and buries his face in his math text.

* * *

 _Kurt leads the way through the depths of a castle, even though he's never been here. Something surges behind his eyes - the nameless depths that were there when Blaine first saw him on the stairs. Blaine's glad at that, but terrified of what it means, and less sure that Kurt will stay with him._

 _David explains how he met a unicorn looking for other unicorns, then Wes, and then how they learned about a prophecy. "- ran into your dad's bull, so I had to turn the unicorn into Kurt. But a couple hours ago your dad went into bipolar-rant-mode and almost made Kurt cry, and that is **bad** because he's not supposed to be human."_

 _"I know," Blaine says, and David glares._

 _"The hell can you know? Kurt wouldn't talk to you for **months**  
! And then there's the problem of **him** forgetting what he is, because you realized he liked music and you two sang so much that 'Candles' will be stuck in my **grandkids'** heads!" He finishes in despair. "How do you know he's a unicorn?"_

 _"I didn't know what he was until now," he says. "But I knew - when I saw him on the staircase, I knew that he was more than I could see. I don't really care, anyway," he adds, looking at Kurt. "I love whom I love."_

 _"Oh god, you're talking like a knight again." David huffs. He tells him slowly: "Blaine, I turned him human because there was no other choice, and I'll need to turn him back into a unicorn because -"_

 _"I love whom I love," he repeats. "You have no power over anything that matters."_

 _Kurt is standing between them, and his skin is glowing coldly like the moon. "I'm not going."_

 _"You're gonna **die**!" David yells, so terrified that he forgets about his head injury. "You're going to leave the other unicorns locked up in the sea, and you're gonna die!"_

 _"I'm not a unicorn!" Kurt goes on frantically to Blaine. "I'm human, and I'm mortal, and I'm going to get old and die three hours after you do. Or we can go the Shakespeare route and do a tragic double-suicide, because that's how much I love you."_

 _He smiles, but it's hesitant. "If we stay together, then no power in the universe can stop us. And this one's just David. Don't be afraid," he tries to assure him. "Don't be afraid of anything."_

 _David laughs. "We don't need that shit. Kurt's human now - he loves an idiot, and he's paranoid, and he's way too dramatic. It's not like unicorns would make any difference - but one more person who tries not to be a douchebag? I'm good with that," he admits sincerely, but with regret. "Just make me best man at your illegal wedding."_

 _Blaine can't see Wes' face, but he hears a stifled, suspicious cough; coming from Wes, it's as good as a breakdown. Kurt smiles, and it is beautiful, but the sea inside his eyes is drying up. "Okay."_

 _" **No!** " Blaine is inexplicably mortified, and frightened when he realizes he can't take it back, but inside he knows this is the right answer. He needs a moment and a deep breath before he can say it again, and it still hurts. "No."_

 _The three of them look at him like he's crazy, and maybe he is. "It's not supposed to be this way. You can't just -_ **settle** for something, guys, not when you know there's a better option. Maybe before, I'd have let you do this, but... I can't do that now." He takes a step and puts his hands out to Kurt, like a proposal. Kurt lifts his head in a silent scoff, and Blaine looks down. "Not after I've known you."

 _The tunnel is lighter, but it's a harsh fluorescence that turns everyone into bad photographs. Blaine and Kurt walk briskly, leaving David and Wes behind, and Wes hits David. "If you change Kurt back, I'm not talking to you anymore."_

 _"I have no idea what you mean." David is smiling. "And you barely talk anyway."_

 _"You made Blaine do it," Wes points out. "You **had** to say 'I'm good with that,' and you triggered his damn perfectionist complex or whatever you did! Now he's going to do the right thing instead of what he wants!"_

 _"Dude, quiet or he'll hear you."_

 _And a red bull comes out of nowhere, huge and impossible and angry. Blaine takes Kurt's hand and they run, but the ground breaks up under the force of the bull's charge and they start falling -_

He wakes up to his alarm and makes a strangled sort of warning noise.

"Weird dream?" Wes calls from the bathroom.

He struggles to sort things out, but he can only recall bits of details and he can't remember what order they should be in. "We were in a castle, and Kurt was gonna die because... a bull was chasing us? Oh, and David wanted to be my best man! Before the bull part," he adds.

"Yeah. _Really_ weird dream," Wes answers himself. "And Blaine, getting chased by a bull _does_ tend to be life-threatening."

"Yeah, but Kurt wasn't human," he explains, still trying to remember what happened. "So he shouldn't have been in danger. Or - I'm not sure..."

"Not even trying to make sense of that," Wes states. "Normally I don't mind hearing about your more _vivid_ dreams - within reason - but right now you sound you had a really bad acid trip, so you should probably calm down a little. Okay?"

"No," the word escapes him without thinking, though he's confused as to why.

"What?"

" _I know_ ," he says, louder, and Wes nods as he comes out of the bathroom.

"Sorry, you were being quiet."

He gets to class a little earlier so he can write his dream down - but by then, all he can remember are these things:

 _"No power in the universe can stop us." I was still scared that Kurt wouldn't stay with me._

 _David wanted to be my best man. I said no, even though it hurt._

 _"You can't settle for something when there's a better option out there." I held my hands out to Kurt, but he wouldn't look at me._

 _Wes was mad at David for tricking me into it._

He realizes that the last sentence is what he wanted to happen in real life, so he crumples the sheet up and throws it into the trash. By the end of class it gets buried under similar rejects, and Blaine tries to forget that he wrote it.


	9. The Clock

_  
**"We have no time!" Molly pleaded. Schmendrick nudged her, but she rushed on, stepping close to the skull and appealing directly to its uninhabited eyes. "We have no time. We may be too late now."**   
_

_  
**"I have time," the skull replied reflectively. "It's really not so good to have time. Rush, scramble, desperation, this missed, that left behind, those others too big to fit such a small space - that's the way life was meant to be. You're supposed to be too late for some things."**   
_

At the end of a fateful rehearsal, there is a mass freak-out when Kurt tells the rest of the Warblers that he's going to transfer at the end of the month, and then walks right out the door. Half of them are mad, some of them are confused, and all of them are at least a little hurt that he's leaving.

Trent in particular is mad that Blaine has done _nothing_ to persuade him otherwise, because those two are supposed to be together for-fucking- _ever_ and they can't do that if they're two hours away. By _freeway!_

...Oh, and the whole "McKinley is rabidly homophobic" thing. Maybe he should start with that to keep Blaine off his trail.

Unfortunately, Blaine seems to have had that conversation already. He spots Trent wading through the crowd of hysterical Warblers and states preemptively, "Don't say it. The paperwork's almost done, and I'm sure Finn and Mr. Hummel are ready to destroy anyone who messes with Kurt. As are the New Directions."

"I was _going_ to say you shouldn't let him go back to a homophobic school, Blaine," he lies through his teeth.

"And _then_ you were going to say I should make him stay."

 _When the hell did he get smart?_ Trent wonders. He pretends to look for something in his backpack, but eventually he has to meet Blaine's eyes again and _goddamn_ it, he looks like a kicked puppy sitting in a little cardboard box. In the rain. Did Kurt teach him that so he could mess with everyone? "Okay, yeah. I was going to say that. But long-distance relationships _suck_ , Blaine, I know that from experience -"

" _Okay!_ " Blaine shoots up from his seat and storms to the front of the room, and everyone quiets down. For a moment they're afraid that he's going to unleash a pent-up rant on them, but he takes a breath and speaks with emphatic irritation instead. "To answer _everyone's_ impending questions about Kurt transferring: I appreciate how concerned you guys are about our relationship, but I _don't_ appreciate how you keep telling me I should make him stay. If his family and him are fine with it, then _so am I_. End of story."

He grabs his stuff and leaves. There are a few moments of silence before Nick heads up to the front.

"Yeah, I vote in favor of fucking that." he announces. "Blaine's just being stupid. I suggest we make them spend so much time together that they start going into withdrawal when they're not with each other for longer than an hour. Then Kurt will _have_ to stay at Dalton because he literally can't live without Blaine."

"Nick, people aren't _drugs_ ," David points out, attempting to keep a straight face.

"And they already spend ninety percent of their waking time together!" Brandon adds. "The only way they could _possibly_ spend more time with each other is if they start sleeping together, and we all know Blaine's going to wait until domestic-partnership for that."

On that note, Martin suggests trying to reenact the drunk-Blaine-in-Kurt's-bed incident. "Now that they're actually together this time, there'd be very little margin for error. God, Blaine is luckier than two-thirds of _everyone_ at Dalton."

It gets about nine other Warblers' approval, but then Wes points out that there'd still be potential for an awkward morning after with the (admittedly slight) risk of breaking them up. "And to be honest, it feels like an indirect date rape," he admits.

Those with raised hands drop them like they went through mass amputation.

"...All in favor of repressing that statement with inexplicable kazoo music?" David asks. The vote is unanimous, and Wes raps his gavel on the desk apologetically. Once everyone's done filling their heads with the blessed annoyance of kazoos, he says, "Sorry, Wes, we couldn't hear you over those damn things."

"Moving along," Thad says. "Does anyone have a plan that _doesn't_ get us suspended for sneaking illicit substances onto campus?"

"With all due respect, Council, I'd like to point out that we're focusing on the _entirely wrong person_ ," Jeff stands up decisively. "Blaine says he's fine with whatever Kurt decides, right?"

"He only announced it in front of everyone five minutes ago," Thad points out sarcastically.

"Exactly," he continues without missing a beat. "Blaine is Kurt's bitch. He'll only realize how much he fucked up once Kurt's been gone for a week. So if we want Kurt to stay here, we'll have to convince _Kurt_." David's face lights up and he takes out a notebook.

"You have a point, Jeff," he agrees. "We've been so focused on making _Blaine_ change Kurt's mind that we nearly forgot about doing that ourselves."

"Why _did_ it take us this long?" Wes wonders.

"Anyway," David continues pointedly, pen ready to jot down suggestions. "Kurt's pretty damn stubborn when he's got one thing on his mind. Right now it's getting back to McKinley, so we need to subtly change his goal from transferring back there to staying with Blaine. At Dalton," he reminds himself.

* * *

 **Plan A - Convince Kurt with music**

"Farhad, did you hear anyone come into our dorm last night?" Kurt asks.

"No," he says blearily. "Why?"

"Because I don't remember changing my ringtone for Blaine to Augustana's 'Boston.'" He holds his phone up in explanation.

"Bet it was the Warblers," Farhad mumbles. "You guys should be spies, man."

* * *

"Martin, you dumbass! 'Boston' is about _leaving!_ " Jeff berates him at their secret rehearsal. "Even Blaine's not dumb enough to make _that_ mistake!"

The Warbler in question sighs. "Guys, it was _dark_! I thought I set it to Aqualung's 'Brighter Than Sunshine!'"

"Oh, _brighter than sunshine_ and _Boston_ \- a perfectly understandable mixup," Trent drawls. "One of them is only _two words longer_ than the other."

"I had to scroll back and forth between _three versions_ of Avenue Q!" Martin retorts.

David looks at him in confusion. "Martin, Aqualung and Augustana would be _before_ Avenue Q."

"There's 'All-Encompassing Awesomeness - Avenue Q,' 'Avenue Q - Better Sound,' and 'Avenue Q - Original Broadway Cast,'" Martin explains. They facepalm; it figures Kurt would have fifty-million songs on his iPhone.

"Okay, temporary setback." David crosses out ' _Change Kurt's ringtone to a "love overcomes all" song_ ' from his notebook. "We didn't have very high hopes for this plan, anyway."

* * *

 **Plan B - Persuasion**

Blaine calls for an emergency meeting, and they're happy until they realize he's fucking _pissed_. "Which one of you hacked my Facebook to send a marriage request and a five-page poem to Kurt?" He asks them. They shrink away a little as he paces between the chairs, but somehow none of them crack under his gaze. "That wasn't _funny_ , guys! Ignoring that we're both underage, you _know_ we can't get married!"

Wes actually manages to talk - then again, Wes is a cyborg considering he has nerves _and_ balls of steel. "So you two _weren't_ joking around?"

"It's an actual _hacker_?" Blaine groans and forces himself to relax. "Oh, god - sorry for blowing up at you, guys! I totally jumped to conclusions..."

When he leaves to change his laptop, email, and Facebook passwords, the Warblers give a collective shudder and David needs a minute before he can cross out _'Drop subtle hints'_ without looking epileptic.

"Okay." Thad finally says. "The _one_ thing Blaine has no sense of humor about is marriage. Which is rather understandable."

"Thank god we didn't get the rings," Jeff adds.

* * *

 **Plan M - Necessary Force**

The dean gives them all detention for a week after the search for Kurt and Blaine concludes. "I really shouldn't condone your pranks after all this time, boys, but how on earth did you manage to weld the door shut?" He says with a laugh, which falters as the Warblers freak out.

" _Welded?_ " Trent bursts.

"All we did was put a chair under the knob!"

"Is this why it took three hours to find Kurt and Blaine?"

"What? They only had to wait twenty minutes before a janitor got them out," he tells them, and then his mouth thins with concern. "So you weren't responsible for locking Rhett Corvin in the southern wing?"

An emphatic chorus of 'no's' answer him.

"Well... you only have detention until Thursday. Other than that, you're excused." As they file out of the door, they hear him dial a number. "Yeah, Jerry? Tom. Spike's back."

"Mr. Dunham's first name isn't _Tom_ ," David says, brow furrowed.

"And it's safe to say he's not a cartoon cat," Wes adds. They take another glance at the door before it's closed.

* * *

 _  
**"The happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story."**   
_

_  
**The Lady Amalthea did not answer him. Schmendrick asked, "Why not? Who says so?"**   
_

_  
**"Heroes," Prince Lir replied sadly. "Heroes know about order, about happy endings - heroes know that some things are better than others."**   
_

It's the end of another rehearsal, and the end of another day completely failing to change Kurt's mind. They only have a week left before Kurt transfers, and they have moved on from letters to numbers. The VCR starts beeping, and Trent makes a beeline over to switch the TV on.

 _"- starting -"_ Blank screen. The Warblers look at it in confusion as the screen switches on and off with scattered bits of words, until the intervals space out enough for them to see Kurt fiddling with the lion-pin. They're sitting in Blaine and Wes' dorm. _"- that?"_

 _"Sorry," Kurt says sheepishly. He gives a final two clicks. "- just - little clicky noises. It's like_   
_  
**bubble wrap**   
_   
_."_

 _Blaine laughs and smiles at Kurt - this soft, sweet smile that is neither his big, dorky performance grin nor his "I told you so" face. (It also doesn't make the Warblers wonder why the best "come hither" expressions are invariably from people with the lowest sex drive ever, but that's a different matter.)_

 _Kurt sighs. "At least Finn and Carole like you."_

 _"What about your dad?"_

 _"Yeah, Blaine - you told my dad to have the sex talk with me, and then we started dating a week later. Not exactly subtle."_

" _Seriously_?" David facepalms as groans echo in the room.

"Why am I not surprised?" Thad asks. He notices Wes with his head in his hand and taps his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

"Blaine needs _another_ talk on how to avoid castration," Wes says through gritted teeth. "It's like everything I say dissolves in his hair-gel after a few weeks."

 _"- said I was sorry!"_

 _"And you're making good progress," Kurt assures him. "He bumped the lose-my-virginity age down from thirty to twenty-five. At least, the_   
_  
**non**   
_   
_-secret one," he adds playfully._

Martin pumps a fist in the air. "Who called it?" He gets a few high-fives, though they screech to a halt as they notice Blaine's _confused_.

 _"- different kinds?"_

 _An understandable silence, on- and off-screen, as Kurt stares at the tenor. "Sometimes I worry about you," he says at last._

And this, for whoever would actually need it, is hard evidence that Blaine really _is_ that stupid about relationships. It's times like these that they're really, _really_ glad Blaine's gay; the world would lose out on awesome tenors, but at least there'd be no tiny quarter-Asians committing social suicide every other week.

 _"So, we figured that we might as well make the most of our last tuition payment." Somehow Kurt manages to get even closer to Blaine than he already is, resting his head on Blaine's collarbone. The pair of them look strangely small on the twin-size bed._

Trent's finger hovers over the Off button just in case Kurt and Blaine's hormones finally kick in, because this sounds like the conversation you hear in every wartime-romance story ever. "Oh, Blaine, I'm heading off to war and this might be the last time I see you again," he mimics Kurt's voice, but a hint of genuine sadness creeps into his tone. There are a few snickers, but they aren't the mean kind.

 _"- parents decided it for me last -"_

 _"No, I meant... You didn't keep the important things to yourself."_

 _"I figured that from the twenty-three voicemails consisting of apologies or frantic shrieking that I should have told them something," Kurt says drily. "And the look on your face when I showed up in a uniform."_

 _Blaine hesitates for a moment. "I know you've only been here for a few months, but the Warblers_   
_  
**do**   
_   
_care about you. They'll come around once they realize this is what you want."_

 _"What about you?" Kurt asks a bit quietly._

 _"What?"_

 _"You keep saying_   
_  
**I**   
_   
_need to be safe and that_   
_  
**you**   
_   
_\- plural - will miss me," Kurt frowns at him. "But what_   
_  
**you**   
_   
_want, Blaine Anderson, is notably absent."_

Hushed high-fives abound as they silently cheer Kurt on. Blaine inches towards his answer, as they expected.

 _"I want to get old and creaky and reminisce about when we were young," he begins. "I want to adopt about fifty kids with you so you can name them after musicals and nearly drive us into bankruptcy between your clothes and theirs, and it'll be totally worth it to watch them graduate high school."_

"Blaine, _never_ start with the kids," Wes tells the screen. "Or at least stay with normal names - I'm not letting _my_ kids play with Fiyero or _Sweeney_."

 _"- Broadway, third to fifth row center."_

 _"Why not first?" Kurt demands._

 _"Because the first two rows mean I won't be able to see you," he explains. "And I might get deafened by the speakers, so you'll be drowned out by the ringing in my ruptured eardrums."_

 _That makes Kurt laugh. "Good point."_

 _"I want to go to college with you," Blaine says. "I want to... spend summers with you. Just wandering around doing nothing, and we won't really care because it's totally awesome."_

"And we haven't heard _one_ word about when you're planning to jump Kurt," Brandon notes, but everyone else is too busy looking for insulin so they can process all the sugar in those last two sentences. Trent can actually feel his arteries clogging.

 _"What about right now?" Kurt finally asks, and Blaine doesn't answer for a while; his fingers tighten around Kurt's shoulders._

 _"I don't_   
_  
**know**   
_   
_," he says. "I want to let you transfer, but everyone keeps telling me I should make you stay here - and I kind of want that too, but I know_   
_  
**you**   
_   
_want to go back to McKinley."_

Okay, now they feel bad about confusing Blaine's tiny gelled-up head.

 _"And I want you to stay here, but not because of me," he goes on helplessly. "Does that make sense?"_

 _"A little?" Kurt says._

 _"I want you to stay with me because - I..." he shifts nervously._

"Blaine, _say it_ ," Trent orders, but it ends up sounding like a plea. "That "I don't need to say it because you already know" thing is _really_ risky with you two!"

The others shush him, but Kurt and Blaine haven't said anything. Why haven't they said anything?

 _"I stopped worrying about what everyone thinks," Blaine finally goes on._

 _Kurt is confused, and a little bit scared as he detaches himself from Blaine to stretch. "That's good," he says. "You're less likely to get ulcers."_

Trent kind of wants to ask Wes and David if they knew about Blaine's impending stress-induced breakdown, but he also doesn't want to stop looking at the screen. This conversation is heading somewhere unknown - they aren't even sure if it's going to be a train wreck or not.

 _"You know when I said that I pretend to know what I'm doing?" Blaine continues, to Kurt's nod. "I'm not pretending anymore. I'm not scared of looking stupid or things going wrong, and when they_   
_  
**do**   
_   
_, it doesn't bother me like it used to. I stopped rehearsing what I'll say every five minutes, and I don't just - stand around hoping for things to work out. I make it work, or I try to... And it's because of you."_

 _"Really?" Kurt looks at him with cautious joy._

 _"I'm not_   
_  
**like**   
_   
_you, Kurt - I can't stand up for myself. I always need someone else to fight for."_

"You need to _start_ being like Kurt, dumbass!" Nick accuses, shooting up from his seat.

"Nick, stop blocking the screen!" Jeff yanks him back down.

 _"- done if we were_   
_  
**both**   
_   
_like me," Kurt says with gentle amusement. "And we might have taken about five more years to get together."_

There is a collective shudder at the thought of their bet becoming literal. "Thank god _Wes_ didn't start the betting pool," Thad says. They turn back to the screen, and once more they're relieved and worried because they haven't missed a thing. Kurt and Blaine could set world records for how many emotional silences they have.

 _"People joke about how old-fashioned I am," Blaine tells Kurt, and his hands are shaking. "And it used to be just a habit Mom drilled into me, but you were so_   
_  
**miserable**   
_   
_when I first met you. You kept acting like basic courtesy was this awesome thing you'd never experienced before."_

 _"It kind of_   
_  
**was**   
_   
_," Kurt admits, and he sits back down with Blaine._

 _"I liked that about you. And I liked making you happy, at least for a few minutes, and now it's not a habit anymore." Blaine rushes on, as if he's trying not to think. Or cry. "You... dropped into my life and ended up being one of the best people I've ever known. And you_   
_  
**stayed**   
_   
_in my life."_

The Warblers are confused and indignant - what are they, props? But Blaine's refusal to try changing Kurt's mind makes sense now, because of course he wouldn't try if he didn't think he had a chance, and...

"This _happened_ before." Trent voices what they've all realized in a dangerously soft voice.

"'And you _stayed_?'" Nick demands, livid. "We need to find that bastard and rip his fucking _kneecaps_ out!"

"I bet it's Gap Dude," David flicks through his notebook. "He's working at Ross now, isn't he?"

"He's not a _bad_ person," Thad points out, and frowns when everyone gapes at him. "Guys, I ran into him a couple of times. When I apologized for Blaine's stupidity getting him fired, he said he shouldn't have -"

They shut up when they hear a noise from the screen, but it's just Blaine being horribly close to tears.

 _"You make me better." He takes a breath and twists his hands. "You make me better, and now you're going to leave, and I have this - stupid feeling that you won't come back." He tries to laugh, but they can see the sudden shine of his eyes. "Because no one_   
_  
**ever**   
_   
_comes back to me, Kurt, especially not someone like_   
_  
**you.**   
_   
_"_

 _Kurt's face is a jumble of wonder and love and sadness. Blaine moves toward him and reaches out._

" _Finally!_ " They say in unison, and some of them let out a breath.

"God, Blaine, you're the worst convincer _ever_." David checks the clock and starts writing.

"He's not the _worst_ , he's the _slowest_ ," Wes corrects.

 _"I know I can't make you stop transferring, and I don't want to," he says. "But if_   
_  
**you**   
_   
_could stop it, and if money wasn't the problem... Would you want to stay with me?"_

 _Silence._

"Yes," Brandon's quiet voice shatters the air. "Yes, Blaine. I would stay here if the choice was up to me and not my finances. Because I fucking love you and we're going to... Kurt, _say something!_ " He breaks off desperately.

Trent presses the Off button like his life depends on it, but it's jammed. "Guys - screwdriver!" David finds it in the front desk and tosses it over.

 _"It's not like I'm literally -"_

 _Blaine stops him, and his face is wet. "Kurt, yes or no. Compromising is not the point right now."_

 _And Kurt looks cornered between what he's going to say and what he knows Blaine wants to hear._

The front of the control panel is taken off; Martin puts it by his chair. Trent levers the Off button back up into its normal position. "This stupid thing is _crazy_."

 _Blaine swallows, hard, and asks him in a hoarse voice: "Would you want to stay with me?"_

They hope against hope that either the Off button works in time or that Kurt says yes. They'll know Kurt's answer tomorrow, or when Wes texts them, but they don't want to watch any more of this. The first screw is back in, then the second - enough to keep the black plastic in place.

 _"No," Kurt says._

 _Blaine is crying. It is neither the anguished weeping that everyone sees in the movies, nor the silent tears that most men feel is their limit. This is the last of many straws that have broken his heart, and the worst part is that he expected it. Blaine is_   
_  
**crying**   
_   
_._

 _He wipes his eyes with shaking hands; Kurt takes them and lets Blaine drape them across his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he says helplessly.  
_

Trent presses the Off button, and there is nothing less than silence in the practice room.


	10. The Men At Arms

**Notes:** I apologize for breaking everyone's hearts in that last chapter, so here's another breather for you guys. I haven't run out of character OR quotes yet.

This story now has its own TV Tropes page! I've known that it was on the Glee Fanfiction Recommendations for a while, but this is a new thing entirely. And typically, I have pushed the Glee half of the schedule back even farther: This is going to end on "New York," to take Karofsky's new characterization into account and make this less soul-crushing. Oh, Season 2, why must you be so full of writing fodder?

* * *

 _  
**"The prince may slay a thousand dragons, but he will level no castles, overthrow no kings. It is not in his nature. He is a dutiful son who seeks - alas - only to be worthy of the man he calls his father."**   
_

Gregory Morgan is not normally one to question his employers, because the Andersons are surprisingly _normal_ for a family as wealthy as they are. Granted, most people are not photographers who treat delayed flights with as much annoyance as they would a traffic jam, art students are usually the direct opposite of wealthy, and he has a sneaking suspicion that most people (in Ohio) cannot conceive that a gay teenager is _treated_ as normal by a motley crew of choir members.

He gets a little worried about Blaine sometimes - even for teenagers, all the exasperated ribbing he puts up with from the Warblers is a bit much. Lydia and Kyle never had that problem, and he wonders if it's because Blaine's been brought up under the double-edged sword of being half-Asian and being gay. One might be more obvious, but the other has left deeper marks.

Blaine is a very dutiful boy, frequently trekking back home two or three times a week - sometimes alone, sometimes with a Warbler or two (or ten). Lately the conversation always turns to one Kurt Hummel. Much like the Warblers, Greg isn't fooled by the whole "we're just really close friends" explanation; but it seems Greg's the first to actually _ask_ about his and Kurt's relationship.

"So, Blaine, when are you going to ask him on a date?" He asks one day in the parlor. Blaine always lets his guard down when he's watching TV.

Blaine's skin turns redder than rowan - telling enough, but he also gives that yelping laugh of his that he makes when an excuse doesn't work. "That's ridiculous, Greg, why would you assume that?"

He eyes Blaine with no shortage of amusement, whisking up the plates scattered around the room from the half-dozen Warblers. "Blaine, just because you're gay doesn't mean you can't act completely besotted with someone. I'm fifty-two, and teenagers have changed so little in the important areas that it's frightening."

"God, not you too!" Blaine clutches his temples and shuts the TV off for emphasis. "Just because we're both gay, and we have a lot in common, and we understand each other doesn't mean... okay, that came out wrong."

Greg really can't help but stare at him before he laughs. "I might have bought it if you stopped at 'we have a lot in common.' _We understand each other,_ though? There's not a lot that could fail to convince me more."

* * *

On the weekend after Valentine's Day, Blaine comes home on tenterhooks. "So Greg, I sort of... Kurt said he likes me."

"Of course he'd _like you_ , Blaine," Greg tells him with a sigh. "From what Wes, David, and at least five other Warblers say, you two are a couple in all but name. Phone calls, coffee dates, constantly singing with each other?"

"We're in show-choir -"

"Constantly singing with each other _outside of practice_? Alone?" Greg is more than slightly worried when Blaine looks at him with no clue. Good god, does he not know how this all sounds? " _Context,_ Blaine. Context is very important! And then there was two months ago when you _left school_ just to talk."

"Yeah, but that was because I got really worried about him!"

"And that makes it even _more_ obvious," he points out. "At least to Kurt. And everyone, it seems, but _you_."

"Um," is all Blaine says, without even looking sheepish, and Greg groans.

"Blaine, what was Kurt _supposed_ to think? That you're practically on-call seven days a week because you'd do that for _anyone_?" When he tries to look at Blaine's face, the boy fidgets with his hands in his pockets - that can't be a good sign. "Oh dear lord, you _would_."

"Why does everyone keep saying that like it's bad?" Blaine asks, and Greg fights the urge to sigh again.

The manager opens a random door; it turns out to be the dining room, but it has chairs and a light-switch, so he's fine with it. "Blaine, come sit down."

He takes a chair somewhere between the first three tables, and Greg sits down with him.

"Right, nobody is saying it's bad. In fact, being concerned about people and spending time with them is obviously very good, but _only_ within reason. You're so far past reason that it's a wonder Kurt doesn't think you'd marry him if it were legal. This level of... _devotion_ is something that most people reserve for the ones they love." Greg can't quite believe he needs to explain this sort of thing to a seventeen-year-old, or that it's not always appropriate, and he wishes he didn't have to.

The youngest Anderson twists his fingers together before he speaks. "Okay, so... keeping that in mind."

"The fact that I need to explain this is concerning," he goes on, sighing in sad relief. "Still, I'm glad you didn't find out in a _harder_ way."

"Harder?"

Alarm bells start ringing in Greg's head. "Did it occur to you that if Kurt were someone else - or even just wasn't in actual trouble - then _you_ might have been the one in trouble at some point?"

"Wait, how does that work?" Blaine asks, which means no. Replace the bells with sirens - those big, loud air-raid sirens that the British used in World War Two.

"You are absurdly lucky that you met Kurt, and all Kurt did was _fall in love with you_ ," he says firmly, but with a hint of fear. "Do you have any idea how many other people you could have met instead?"

Blaine nods, uneasy. He understands - he doesn't comprehend. Greg can tell that he's only thinking of the part where he might never have met Kurt in the sweet, short-sighted way of teenagers, and who he might have met instead is in that vague, faceless Not-Kurt category.

" _Blaine,_ " he pleads, "if Kurt hadn't been who he said he was, or even in as much trouble, then... you're not getting this, are you?"

"No." The confused expression does not change.

Greg takes several deep breaths, clutching the dark wood of the chair for reassurance, and he's sure that he looks like he'll have a heart attack. _Just be glad that nothing happened,_ he thinks firmly. But he can't help remembering that they have had this talk before, about boundaries and being careful and listening to what others do as well as what they say.

For such a smart boy, Blaine is disturbingly naive.

There is a twinge of resentment in the back of Greg's head - not because of Blaine, since the poor thing doesn't _mean_ to get himself into so many near-misses, but because Greg shouldn't feel as responsible for him as he does. _This is something Luke should be doing,_ he thinks with regret.

"Blaine, you can't just... leap to everyone's aid like this. At least not without question, because sometimes people _lie_ about who they are or what they need. It doesn't need to be money or help, because some people just _like_ messing up others' lives. And just because it doesn't happen _often_ doesn't mean it _can't_ happen. Especially to someone like you, because that's who they know they can con out of something."

He seems like he's finally comprehending, with a somber light going on in his face, and Greg's heart sinks a little. "Right, then - what are you going to do with Kurt?"

"I'm not sure," Blaine admits. "But I told him I don't want to screw things up." _Again_ , says the look on his face.

Someone who didn't know Blaine would have assumed he was talking about the most recent disaster, or that it's the only thing he means, but there's a tinge of bitterness that only distant memories can give. Greg smiles encouragingly and pats his shoulder. "Nobody who's afraid of that will ever mess up where it counts."

Not that he's surprised when Blaine _does_ mess up.

...A lot.

* * *

 _  
**The Lady Amalthea and Prince Lir walked and spoke and sang together as blithely as though King Haggard's castle had become a green wood, wild and shadowy with spring.**   
_

One particular day, the end of Kyle's latest trip coincides with one of Blaine's weekend returns. Blaine is whistling dreamy snatches of love tunes as they wait for the kettle and toaster to finish. Kyle looks at him carefully - his little brother is pretty happy, but even he needs something big to actually _whistle_. "You and Kurt dating now?"

Blaine reddens and turns away, and he stops whistling for good measure.

"You _are_ ," Kyle insists with a grin. "Someone has a _boyfriend!_ "

He's laughing now, high-pitched and embarrassed. "Dude, why are you _asking_? You heard about it on Facebook and my news feed practically broke!"

"You were fucking _whistling_." Kyle gets his toast out. "Also, you never answered; are you and Kurt -"

" _Oh my god!_ " Blaine rolls his eyes and heads across the kitchen to get the kettle. But presently his whistled refrain starts afresh, when he thinks Kyle's forgotten.

And there it is.

* * *

Lydia meets the elusive Kurt some time later, when the Warblers are on their week-long break.

"Hey, you're home from California!" Blaine gives her a tackle-hug hybrid, and Kurt strides over with a steadiness that belies his ethereal looks. Lydia knows what he looks like from Facebook - Blaine's been talking about (and to) him nonstop, and it turns out that Kurt really does look as good as he does in pictures. His skin practically reflects the lights from the house.

"Nice to meet you in real life, Lydia." He smiles. His eyes looked only blue in the photos, albeit a very striking shade. In life they're a mix of blue, green, and gray, and they take on a strange darkness in the harsh lights of the Anderson house.

 _I need to make that color,_ she resolves. _It's either glasz, malachite, or a very unconventional jade._

"And I'm making a wild guess that you're Blaine's new boyfriend?" She asks, accepting a very firm handshake as Blaine makes an embarrassed protesting noise.

"I'm flattered to know my reputation precedes me," Kurt says, with his face relaxing just a little.

"So how long are you staying home this time?" Blaine asks.

"Eh, four-ish days before I'm off for SF again."

"Neat! Bring some art that you'll actually _show_ me next time!"

"No guarantees on that," she warns jokingly, and hears Blaine chuckle before she heads off to the pool.

Kurt and Blaine wander hand-in-hand down the hallway, most likely to Blaine's theater, but she won't be surprised if they're not going anywhere.

* * *

 _  
**"I think that love is stronger than habits or circumstances. I think it is possible to keep yourself for someone for a long time, and still remember why you were waiting when she comes at last."**   
_

Blaine thought he'd feel better after singing to Kurt with the Warblers. It's their closure, too, and it seems they're as relieved as he is to actually say goodbye (until Facebook). But he wanders through the days and the classes in a stupor, and the ache fades into apathy that never really leaves until he can see Kurt.

Kurt is happy to be back at McKinley, albeit confused - there is something about Karofsky and Santana getting rid of all the bullying.

"Which really isn't that hard, since Karofsky was the biggest offender in the first place," he says on the first Saturday since transferring as they sit in the living room. "It's a little too obvious that Santana's his beard, though. And I'm not entirely sure about Santana, either - lately she's been gushing on Facebook on how much she loves her manly stud Dave, because he's totally manly."

"I'm... going to pretend I understand this situation," Blaine says with a feeble laugh. "How did you find out about all this?"

"Celebratory sleepover with the girls."

"It took you one night to catch up?" He exclaims.

"A _night_?" Kurt laughs and pecks Blaine's forehead. "Oh, Blaine, you _are_ slow. It took about five minutes."

The conversation turns to other things: Finn is banned from the kitchen on the grounds of burning soup (it was more that the pot boiled over, but no one's splitting hairs). Jeff and Nick are becoming the subject of far too much speculation-slash-bets (Blaine doesn't approve of gambling, but it's not like he'll stop people).

"So, what's the deal about Karofsky?" He asks Kurt again, more confused than worried this time. "You don't just go from bullying to defending your victims, even with how long you've been gone."

"Not sure," Kurt admits. "I keep thinking he's going to stop and tell us it was all a ruse, or start calling me names when people can't hear, but... he hasn't stopped yet, and he's actually trying not to. It's so weird having him call me Kurt."

That "trying" sparks fear and relief and envy:

Because as guilty as it makes him, he wants it to be a ruse. _Then maybe he'll stay at Dalton with me._ But at the same time he remembers that Kurt said no, and he doesn't want Kurt to stay just because he has to.

Because Karofsky's _trying_ not to go back to how he was, and there would be no slip-ups if he were just pretending. _You only make mistakes when you mean it,_ he notes from experience. It makes him feel worse and better at the same time.

Because nobody ever changed for Blaine, and why would this time be any different? _But_ _ **I**_ _changed because of Kurt,_ he admits with a hint of resignation. _Why not someone else?_

And eventually, as he's caught in the rush back to Westerville, he realizes that he wants this to be true more than he wants Kurt to come back.


	11. The Hunters

**Notes:** "The Tale of Sir Robin" is from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, which I do not own.

* * *

 _  
**"You don't have to have a golden bridle to catch a unicorn; that part's the fairy tale. You only need to be pure of heart."**   
_

The Bully Whips quickly become a fact of life in McKinley High, and in the mental no-man's-land between "loathing" and "actually, you're kind of okay," Kurt finds himself talking more to Karofsky now. At first he just questions the jock relentlessly, especially in the first few days, but he runs out of steam faster than Karofsky does. It starts out simply enough; Kurt asks him why he's doing this, Karofsky gets annoyed (and a little sad), and then he finds some excuse to leave until the next passing period.

"Look - I'm _sorry_. That's all I really know right now." Karofsky turns his fidget into a self-assured shifting of weight as he sighs. "I'm not good at talking like you are, so -" The bell rings. "Wait for me after class, okay?"

 _So close_. Kurt tries not to gnash his teeth, because that's dowdy and old-fashioned. Instead he nods and heads into History.

* * *

The days turn into weeks and somewhere along that point, Kurt starts calling him Dave instead of Karofsky. To be honest, the first time was just a coincidence - Warbler-David gets drunk and texts him one Thursday (with astonishingly good spelling and grammar). He knows it's a drunk-text for two reasons. One: It comes out of the blue in the middle of Glee club, and right in the middle of his and Karofsky's daily interrogation. Two: David doesn't seem as... composed as he usually is.

 _I bet you left because we were'nt tryignng hard enough to make you stay. I knew we shuuold have gotten the damn rings! This is Jfefs' fault!_

 _The hell does that part about rings mean?_ Kurt wonders, then shrugs - if you want coherency, you won't find it in a drunk-text. "Oh, _David_." He deletes the message with a sigh, but when _Karofsky_ answers, Kurt realizes just how much he's screwed up.

"Just... Dave, actually."

"What?" He just manages to keep the squeaky fear-tone out of his voice. Oh god, he thought Kurt was talking to _him!_

"My name. It's just Dave," he repeats, and puts his arm around Santana a little awkwardly. "It's not short for David."

Kurt is _this_ close to correcting him, because he's not the first person to know two people with the same name. But meshing with the shock in Karofsky's (Dave's?) face is a slow-growing relief, as cautious and doleful as something in a cage. And now that Kurt's not terrified or consciously avoiding him, it turns out Karofsky's ( _Dave's_ ) eyes are a hazel shade that reminds him uncomfortably of Blaine. Once he realizes he's thought it, the concept mortifies him.

 _I did_ _ **not**_ _just connect my boyfriend to my former bully!_ he thinks desperately, but Karof-Dave's face is starting to look worried with all the silence, so he just nods. "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." Now he'll have to rewire his brain so he stops saying 'Karofsky.'

The invisible bars between them start rusting away. Ka-Dave's arm is still around Santana, but he looks at Kurt once more with a timid hope. Irrationally enough, this scares Kurt even more than what happened in the locker room - but in the back of his head, where it takes a while to comprehend, he's fine with it.

* * *

 _  
**"Unicorns are for beginnings," he said, "for innocence and purity, for newness. Unicorns are for young girls."**   
_

_  
**Molly was stroking the unicorn's throat as timidly as though she were blind. She dried her grimy tears on the white mane. "You don't know much about unicorns."**   
_

It's been five weeks, three days, and seven hours since Kurt left Dalton. But the Warblers are probably off by a few hours, since Thad's clock is ten minutes early and David's original notebook was illegible after that party on Thursday.

Today they had to drag Blaine to the counselor's office, because it turns out he's the kind of person who keeps feelings inside until he explodes into uncontrollable sobbing in the middle of rehearsal. They found out the hard way that Blaine works out a lot, and it doesn't help that he was struggling so damn hard. Or maybe it's the other way around.

* * *

"LET GO!" Blaine howls, frantically trying to break out of four Warblers' grips.

" _Owww._ " Trent winces - not only from how loud he is, but Blaine's fist just landed really close to his crotch. And missing didn't help that much because _sweet god_ , he hit bone. He slows down a little to keep close calls from happening again, because a somewhat-intentional groin attack is how Jeff got put out of action.

"Where are you taking me, anyway?" He stops and cranes his neck to see the sign reading 'Counselor's Hallway - Turn Left', then surges anew against them. "No. _No!_ Guys, you _always_ overreact like this -"

"You started _crying_ in the _practice room_!" David tells him as sharply as he can manage. "And according to what I learned in Psych, inexplicable crying means that something's been fucked over!"

"My boyfriend transferred! Of course I'm not -"

"Bitch, finish that sentence and we will drop you off the north tower," Nick warns him. "There's no reason for _anyone_ to cry in the middle of 'The Tale of Sir Robin' unless it's tears of fucking _laughter!_ "

They reach the counselor's hall with minimal bruising; the teachers who come out to reprimand them for being too loud just shut their doors again with sighs, and the students in the waiting room move out of their way in curious resignation. The freshmen are the only ones to gawk at them; one of them gingerly asks why nobody seems to care that several students are literally dragging another around.

The nearest person explains. "Yeah, those are the Warblers. Every year, at least one of them needs to get shoved into a counselor's office for some reason."

"There was another one who got carted here last trimester," another one says. He squints at Nick. "Weren't you him?"

Nick flips him off with a glare; an impressive feat, considering he's winded and carrying a fourth of an indecently-built tenor.

Blaine moans, going limp in despair. "Can you at least put me down, guys?"

"Nice try, but no," Wes says. "Vic Reynolds tricked us last year by pretending he'd dislocated his shoulder. Unless you're double-jointed as well, I don't think you can manage that particular feat."

David tightens one arm around Blaine's leg and knocks on Sarah Edwards' door with difficulty. The brunette opens the door, steps aside smoothly as the four of them haul Blaine inside, then gets her clipboard, a notepad, and a pen. "Name?"

Wes needs a few deep breaths before he answers. "Blaine Anderson."

"And was it crying, a fight, or other?"

"Crying." The Warblers count to three, set Blaine down as painlessly as possible, and sit down outside the office for a few minutes. The door shuts.

"Trent, you holding up all right?" David asks, and he nods.

"I'll probably need to sit out on choreography for a day or two. My hip's kind of sore." He gets a hand up from Wes, but nearly falls back in his chair because _he's getting stabbed with invisible rusty knives._ "Okay, it's _really_ sore," he gasps out.

"Damn it," David takes out a pocket notebook and makes a note. "Wes, did you bring the rapid-release Tylenol from the first-aid kit?"

"This is the only thing we _need_ fast-acting medicine for," Wes points out, but he fishes it out of his pocket.

"We should have seen it coming," Nick remarks as Trent downs two pills. "'Kurt, you're one of the best people I've ever known! And that's not saying much because I dated a jackass who didn't even bother to break up with me - he just left one day and never came back, and now I've got tons of baggage that even my best friends don't know about till I start crying like a bitch in rehearsal.'"

"If we'd seen it coming, he wouldn't have been _hiding_ it very well," David tells them. They take a few minutes to catch their breath (and let Trent's pills kick in) before go back to the practice room.

* * *

Thirty-three minutes later, Sarah checks the clock and sighs. "Blaine, we have ten minutes left. Will you stop trying to change the subject or pretending you're fine?"

"I'm not - this _happens_ sometimes." He pretends to rub his temples, but is really wiping his eyes with his sleeve; to his credit, it's very subtle. The motion makes him look small in the armchair. "Look, I know they mean well, but the Warblers overreact a _lot_. Especially David, he has this... he's studying psychology, so he thinks he's responsible for everyone."

"You just gave them an even stronger argument." She smiles gently, and doesn't hold it against him when he fails to return it. "Can you at least tell me why?"

"I told you." He huffs. "My boyfriend transferred, and I'm not... taking it too well."

"What's his name?"

"Uh, Kurt," he answers in surprise. "Kurt Hummel. Why?"

"Just to keep things straight." She writes it down on her clipboard. "Long-distance relationships _are_ pretty tough," she remarks, and Blaine looks at the ceiling.

"It's not _long-distance,_ he's two hours away." He draws back in remorse, even though Sarah is preoccupied with writing things down. "Sorry, it's - the Warblers keep calling it that. They exaggerate a lot."

"Just with you, or with everyone?" _Downplays things,_ she writes on her notepad.

"Everyone. Like when Kurt said he was thinking of transferring back to his old school, they..." He stumbles over the words before going on. "They acted like we were in a movie, and they kept telling me I should do this - big, romantic gesture to make him stay here."

"Did you at least try a realistic gesture?" She wonders aloud, and Blaine shakes his head.

"Why would I? I couldn't have done anything."

That's a bit of a red flag, but it _is_ pretty early. She still writes a note down ( _Very passive?_ ), in case there's a pattern later. "Why not?"

"I had _no legal power_ to make him stay," he tells her carefully. "I'm not his parents, or a school administrator, or anything like that. And I wouldn't want to _make_ him stay just because of me. That's not _romantic_ , that's selfish."

She regards him from her own chair, above _"Make him stay" - three times._ "That sounds pretty cynical for a teenager."

It makes Blaine chuckle, if a bit feebly. "Oh, man. You'd put the guys in _stitches_ if they heard you say I was cynical."

"Really?"

"Yeah, they liked making fun of how cute me and Kurt were. Not in a bad way, though," he adds absently. "Just, you know... jokes. About getting diabetes or calling the dentist because their teeth just rotted, stuff like that."

"Normal guy jokes," she muses. "So how did you and Kurt meet up?"

He smiles for the first time, and she makes a (mental) note of that. "I met him when he was still going to his old school - he was trying to spy on the Warblers. He wanted more info on us because we're in rival show-choirs. Were," he corrects. "And we're rivals again, now," he finishes in confusion.

"...Okay, one second." _When Kurt met Blaine: Both in show-choir. Kurt went to McKinley, snuck into Dalton, ended up going to Dalton because -_ "How did he end up here?"

His face falls and he curls up a little, like he's feeling guilty. "The short version? He had a problem with bullying - he was the only openly gay kid at his school - and it got worse. Which was kind of my fault."

 _\- of homophobia,_ she finishes. After a moment she adds, _Because of Blaine? Not clear yet._ She clears her throat when Blaine starts getting edgy. "Sorry, just trying to get this down so I can understand it later."

"Yeah, even the short version's really complicated," he apologizes.

"Well, let's just focus on why you got taken here for the last five minutes," she concedes. "Why were you crying in rehearsal?"

It's a long pause before he speaks. "I don't know. I don't... _think_ about this kind of stuff."

 _Lots of negatives,_ she writes down. "Was it because of Kurt?" She asks, and he shrugs.

"I... guess?" he agrees, and he sticks his hands in his pockets. "But it's been over a month. I don't get why I'd start acting like this after so long."

"Sometimes things can hit you all at once," she tells him, writing again. He takes his hands back out and clasps them loosely, trying not to fidget. "Especially if you keep them in."

"I am not _repressing my feelings_ ," he argues suddenly.

"I never said you were." Sarah taps her pen on her notepad for a moment, then checks the clock. "We have about five minutes left. Blaine, try to figure out why this happened. It's not always the obvious things that hit us like this."

His face wavers between indignance and uncertainty for a moment, before words shred through his lips. "Okay, I had a weird dream last night."

* * *

 _He is sitting at the edge of a forest, waiting for a unicorn. It's been hours, and his legs are getting stiff._

 _What if nothing comes? He wonders, and he resigns himself to the worst; but then a unicorn trots lightly out from the trees, like a shining cloud. It's small and slender, more like a deer than a horse, and its horn is long and sharp. Blaine laughs a little as it lies down in his lap, taking care to keep the point of the horn away._

 _The unicorn's head is heavy and his horn feels hot through the right side of his shirt. David is here, rolling his eyes patiently, but three hunters wait at the edges of their vision. They draw their bows suddenly, and Blaine freezes because_   
_  
**they're going to kill the unicorn**   
_   
_-_

 _David screams something, and the unicorn turns into Kurt. He's not wearing anything; the horn has become a tapering, twisted sword in his hand._

 _Kurt wakes with neither noise nor sound, and he pushes himself up like a wary dog to look at the stunned hunters. They loose their arrows at him, and he dodges them with a sigh before he plunges the sword into the first hunter's chest._

 _"Holy shit!" David didn't expect this. They stay still instinctively as Kurt kills the other two, trampling all the bodies with bare feet. The cracking bones sound as sharp and painful as glass, sticking in their heads like so many shards. "Hooooly shit, I did NOT think this through -"_

 _Kurt turns smoothly, like he's dancing, and he looks over at them with his huge blue eyes. There's blood all over him, and that means David can't change him back. His face is serene, almost sleepy as he sticks the sword in the ground; he walks over to Blaine and kneels like he did before, taking hold of his face with a red right hand._

 _"You didn't think I'd come," Kurt teases. He doesn't understand what he's done - that you don't just kill people and break all their bones when they're not even alive to feel it. It scares Blaine more than if Kurt was pointing the sword at him._

 _He shakes his head slowly, trying not to break Kurt's hold. Kurt smells like shampoo and clean laundry underneath the metallic tang of blood, and Blaine wants to cry because Kurt shouldn't have blood on his hands._

 _Kurt laughs and pecks him on the lips. "That's a stupid reason to give up."_

* * *

Sarah looks at her notes, then back at Blaine, who is unsure whether to be relieved or nervous. "Have you had any other dreams about Kurt?"

"A couple." He thinks, leaning his elbows on his legs. "I had this one dream where it was like the first time I saw him, and I threw away my pocketwatch. But that was boring, I don't get why I still remember it. And for some reason I keep seeing unicorns in my dreams; I think I'm looking for them, but... just to see them, not to kill them like the other guys were trying to do."

"What does Kurt look like?"

There is another smile at another mention of Kurt. He searches his pockets for his wallet, and doesn't seem bothered when he realizes it's still in the practice room. "He has brown hair; his skin is really smooth and white; and he has blue eyes. Only there's a little bit of green, too, and - they're _turquoise_ ," he recalls sheepishly.

"Sounds cute," she says, and he nods.

"Yeah, I need to show you a picture."

There's a moment of quiet while she finishes writing. "You didn't think he'd come."

"Hmm?"

"The unicorn. You nearly gave up waiting for him. Why?"

The question makes Blaine shift uncomfortably. "Because they only... I'm not a virgin." He gets it out of the way as fast as possible, hiding his bloodless face as he shrinks into the chair. "That's who they're supposed to go to, right?"

"Are you Christian?" She ventures; he shakes his head.

"I was raised Catholic, by my parents. Especially Mom, she's really traditional. But she's not, you know, _militant_."

Sarah checks the clock. "We have about a minute. Do you want an appointment, or will the Warblers have to cart you to any free counselor twice a week?"

Blaine grimaces. "Appointment."

"And you're automatically making progress," she jokes, but only partially. Nick Grayson needed to be dragged to a week's worth of sessions between her and Bob Stoneridge before he gave in and made appointments. She opens the left drawer on her desk and takes out a card. "I'm free next Wednesday or Friday, either after school or seven-thirty."

"Wednesday, seven-thirty."

She pens it in and hands it over. "One last thing," she says before he can sprint out of the office. "Hunting the unicorn - the way you are, just looking for it - that means you're trying to make yourself better."

Something about that reaches him, and he looks back at her again. "So why did it turn into Kurt?"

She frowns; he can't be serious. "It should be pretty obvious."

He laughs, and it is a sad one, but he seems like he's trying to think about it. "It takes me a while to get things."

* * *

 **Notes:** To my fellow Batman fans, I apologize for "NICK Grayson." It was the only thing that came to mind.


	12. The Princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** "Samson" is by Regina Spektor.

_  
**Molly laughed with her lips flat. "And what good is it to me that you're here now? Where were you twenty years ago, ten years ago? How dare you, how dare you come to me now, when I am**   
_   
**this**   
_  
**?" With a flap of her hand she summed herself up: Barren face, desert eyes, and yellowing heart. "I wish you had never come, why do you come now?" The tears began to slide down her nose.**   
_

**Then:**

Kyle stares at Blaine as he grips his coffee mug, even though the heat hurts. Maybe if it breaks in his hand and hurts even more, he'll wake up and things will be normal again, or at least _this_ part won't have happened. "Motherfucking _god_ , Blaine," is all he can hope to say.

Blaine rolls his eyes, and Kyle is this close to letting his mug crash onto the floor because _holy fuck, he's serious_. And he doesn't have a clue what he's done. "I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Why didn't you tell me _before_?" He pleads, and his loudness is mistaken for something else; Blaine's face turns angry and embarrassed.

He turns to leave the room, but Kyle cuts him off. Though he tries to squeeze past, Kyle won't budge and he knows Blaine won't try to shove past him. "Kyle, who asks their brother _anything_ about sex?"

"People who don't want to make mistakes!" He forgot to put his coffee down before blocking the door. It's sloshed out of his mug, and he feels it steaming between skin and ceramic, but that's not important right now. "People who are still in high school! Blaine, you're _sixteen!_ "

"It's the legal age!" Blaine protests, which does not help Kyle's urge to get something pointy and kill the guy who made Blaine think this was a good idea.

* * *

 **Now:**

"Have you talked about it since? With either of your siblings?" Sarah asks Blaine in her office.

He smiles nervously, and fiddles with the strap of his bag. "They - they _try_ to stay calm about it."

"What about your parents?" she continues, and he shakes his head.

"Well, they... Mom was fine since I didn't get forced or end up with STDs or anything." On his face is disappointment, and regret, which certainly means that he's feeling it.

But his mother's lack of care is worrisome, and she feels her lips press together. "What about Greg?"

"Nonono, I am _not_ telling Greg." There it is; the unspoken promise that was missing with his actual parents. "He'd go _insane_."

* * *

 **Later:**  
"Okay, wow," Kurt says as they sit on a park bench. "Not something I expected to hear from _you_."

He smiles valiantly. "The Warblers keep making fun of me for being so nervous, and I figured I should tell _you_ , at least."

Kurt turns to look at him, the bench creaking softly, and there is something gentle in his face. "Is that why you were so upset when I said I wouldn't stay?"

"Yeah." He looks anywhere but at Kurt, who is having none of that and grips his hand firmly. His long fingers are cool, despite the nice weather. "It... it was a really stupid mistake, anyway."

"No, it wasn't," Kurt tells him firmly. "He just didn't deserve you."

* * *

 **Then:**

Blaine wavers near a chair, deciding whether to sit down or not. Kyle knows he won't, and surely enough he starts pacing nervously. "But wouldn't he have said something if he didn't -"

Kyle groans, more out of pain than annoyance, and runs his hand under the tap. "Fuck it, Blaine, you're expecting someone to say _no_ to sleeping with you?" He takes a look at his brother: Big hazel puppy-dog eyes, smart, sweet, trusting. Yeah, people would be _running_ from him.

"Wait, so what was all that stuff about -"

"Because if he actually _cared_ about you, he wouldn't have let you fucking _throw yourself_ at him!" Kyle regrets what he says the minute he sees Blaine's face, but at least he knows Blaine will accept his apology later.

* * *

 **Now:**

He goes quiet, and curls his arms around his bag like he's anchoring himself. Sarah lets him start again when he wants to. "He wasn't my... It was complicated."

That means the situation will be more twisted than a Gordian knot, so Sarah turns to a new page. "I think I'm used to complications after a month of talking to you," she jokes, but his face closes off in dismay. That means he was hoping to be left alone, so she waits for him to talk. "Remember, I can't tell anyone what you say," she reassures, but Blaine's face is as impenetrable as a castle.

"I'm not good at explaining things," he says in defeat. "Unless it's with singing."

"Hmm," she thinks for a moment. "You play piano, right?"

He's surprised. "What does this have to do with it?"

"I'm not a licensed music therapist, but I do know that it helps people express things," she tells him. "Especially you."

"So... should I sing something now?" He starts running through songs in his head, but she stops him.

"No, let's save it for next week. If you're not going to talk, I'm not going to make you. Think of a song, and you can play it in the practice room after rehearsal."

"Sure, I just need to tell them I'm using the piano," Blaine says.

* * *

 **Later:**

"And I'm guessing they all assumed I'm still a virgin with how uptight I am about you, but it's not like I'm _that_ experienced..." Blaine stops when Kurt stands up and brushes himself off. "Where are you going?"

Kurt reaches out, more as a reassurance than to help him up. "You're starting to ramble. That means you're getting nervous."

"Huh. Where are _we_ going, then?" He gets up and stretches before taking Kurt's hand - since most people are off at the mall on Fridays, there are no people around to see them and that means no stares.

Kurt shrugs. "Around the park. You need to blow off some steam." A pause before they start off towards the baseball field. "Is that what _I_ sound like when I'm off about fashion?"

"A little bit," Blaine admits. Kurt's hand starts to warm in his own.

* * *

 **Then:**

"You still have his _number?_ " Kyle isn't sure whether to be mad or frightened when he spots a telltale name in his brother's contacts. "It's been _weeks_ , Blaine!"

"Well, it's not like we _severed ties_ or - what are you doing?" Blaine tries to see what button Kyle is pressing. _"What are you doing?"_

"Severing ties." He holds the phone to his ear, twisting around to make sure Blaine can't get it back. Three rings in, the phone is answered.

 _"Hey, Blaine."_ The voice is calm and friendly, like Blaine has called him recently, and it makes Kyle grip the phone too tight.

"No, it's Kyle."

"Just say hi or something and hang up, _please_." Blaine tries to pry Kyle's fingers off, but Kyle's got seven years of dealing with dorm-mates and the aftermaths of bad parties on him.

 _"Why are you calling from Blaine's phone? Something wrong?"_

"Yeah. _You_ ," Kyle tells him. "You have a fucked-up idea of relationships, you know that?"

 _"Dude, what are you talking about?"_

* * *

 **Now:**

"Instruments can be _quarter_ -steps off?" Sarah asks Blaine in the practice room, and even her moderate volume reaches the distant corners. She is sitting in a chair near the piano.

"Yeah, we take things pretty seriously," Blaine admits. "So - do I need to tell you the song first, or do I just... start?"

"Either way's fine."

"Okay." He lets the first chord ring into the room for four beats, then begins hesitantly: _"You are my sweetest downfall..."_

Sarah watches Blaine, who's clearly practiced it for months instead of the four days between sessions, and there is a weight in his hands that makes the music sound slower than it is. Sarah jots down the references to Samson and Delilah - no hidden meanings _there_ \- but she does wonder who Blaine is out of the two. The song is from Delilah's point of view, and the refrains of "I loved you first" are suspiciously heartfelt, but Blaine is too nice to betray people.

 _"Samson came to my bed, told me that my hair was red - told me I was beautiful, and came into my bed."_ His voice is as tender as a bruise, and he clips his words short in the way people do when they get hurt. _"Oh, I cut his hair myself one night, a pair of dull scissors in the yellow light, and he told me that I'd done all right -"_

Blaine is a mosaic of emotions; fragments of regret, sharp and stinging, are set in his face with each mournful verse. It might be the physical act of playing and singing that distracts him, or the psychological effect of music letting him express his emotions in a safe manner. It might be that he's too focused on the song to be worried about appearances, or just that he knows she won't tell anyone else.

 _"And he kissed me till the morning light, the morning light, and he kissed me till the morning light..."_ He picks out scaling notes carefully, as if the piano will break if he touches it too hard, but his voice is what crumbles as he sings the last chorus. She wonders if he's like this with the Warblers, though - as close as they are, they do need to perform in front of an audience.

The echoes grow cold, and Sarah waits until he looks like he's ready to talk again.

* * *

 **Later:**

Blaine tries to find what to say, or whether to say it at all, and with the uncertainty comes the familiar dread. "I shouldn't have been so _stupid,_ " is all he can manage, because neither of them know what he's trying to say.

"It's not _that_ much different from how you are now _,_ " Kurt teases, but his laughter dies when Blaine puts his hands in his pockets and shies away. He sighs and lays a hand on his shoulder. "Blaine, I'm not keeping score of how many people you dated."

"Yeah, well," Blaine says, "I keep thinking how it would have been different if I'd met you instead of him, and... it would have been _better_."

"You don't know that," Kurt argues, but Blaine shakes his head.

"Yes, I do." He kicks at a rock regretfully.

"You are _awfully_ presumptive, Blaine Warbler," Kurt tells him with a shake of his finger - but he knows that Blaine's right, from his very own 'He didn't deserve you.' He's a bit crestfallen at how predictable he is. "Would it really have been better?"

"Well, it can't get much worse than what _did_ happen."

* * *

 **Then:**

Blaine's voice takes on a rare screeching note with whatever he's saying, but Kyle only winces and keeps moving through the living room. "If you want to break things off, that's fine, but don't lead him on like this again."

 _"The hell?"_

"Oh, _sorry,_ " Kyle apologizes with a mocking laugh. "I forgot to mention that he's not _over you_ yet!"

 _ **"What?"**_ comes the other end, barely audible over Blaine's protests. _"Holy shit, I never -"_

"He's sixteen!" Kyle snaps. "The hell did you expect him to think when you still talk to him after breaking up?"

 _"He can handle breaking up by himself."_

"Not right now," Kyle states. "Dude, he nearly passed out when I said I'd delete your number. And don't take this personally, but stay away from him from now on." He speaks softly; when he hears a queasy chuckle, his face heats up. "Do you understand what I said?"

 _"Okay, I get it."_ He laughs again, though it is still a bit nervous. _"Big-brother responsibilities -"_

" _Stay the hell away from my brother,_ " Kyle cuts him off through gritted teeth. "And if I find out you're still calling him or talking to him, doing _anything_ to get his hopes up again, I will find where you live and _I will torch you in your own fucking house!_ "

"Oh my god, Kyle, you can't _say_ that!" Blaine's voice is a throat-ruining scream. Kyle knows that he was expected to say he'd call the police or beat him up; those things are vague and law-abiding, and they don't carry the destructive threat of love. But Blaine is the youngest and Kyle is the oldest, and it's not like their dad's going to do anything.

Kyle hangs up and deletes the number. Blaine is still yelling at him through angry, unintelligible tears, and Kyle hands him his phone back.

* * *

 **Now:**

He shifts on the piano bench, and he doesn't know what to do with his hands anymore. "Kyle and Lydia think I'm just pretending I never met him. And I decided not - not to _tell_ them, you know. If they found out that he was _literally_ never my boyfriend..."

"Yeah, someone would be burned alive." She sits down next to him and rests her clipboard on her knees, clicking her pen. "So, why did you pick that song?"

He looks a bit cheated. "You said I wouldn't need to explain," he says, balking at the thought of piecing things together without music.

"No, I said music would _help_ you explain," she reminds him. "All right, let's rephrase it; how did you feel when you were singing?"

* * *

 **Later:**

They're sitting on Blaine's jacket now. Their backs are to a tree, their arms linked, and the grass comes up to their chests. Clouds are drifting across the sun, and everything goes gray for a moment. "I mean, everyone keeps saying it's this awesome, life-changing experience that they'll never forget, but... I kind of _want_ to. It wasn't _horrible_ , don't get me wrong, but - it wasn't really that special, either, and for some reason that makes me feel worse."

Kurt sifts through the extra words, and he feels bad when the meaning shakes itself free of explanations and justification. "It was _okay_ , huh?"

"I wish I'd met you earlier." He tries to smile, because this is closer to what he wants to say, but his mouth ends up crooked and his eyes are a murky, sad brown. "Like, if I could - move things around so that the stupid mistakes never happened?"

"If you did that, you wouldn't have met _me_ ," Kurt tells him sharply. "You would have met an even lonelier, obsessive little boy who would do anything to get what he wants. And I mean _anything_ , Blaine - I set up Dad and Carole so I could share a house with Finn. Who knows what I'd have done to get an actual _gay guy?_ "

"Yeah, well..." His laugh rings plaintively. "I'd deal with that." He belatedly realizes that he means _I don't care._

"Why am I not surprised?" Kurt asks.

* * *

 _  
**Then she took a few steps onto the grass, held up a bridle bright as butter, and called, "Here, unicorn, here! Here, my pretty, here to me! Comecomecomecomecome!"**   
_

_  
**The prince snickered. "It's not your chickens you're calling, you know."**   
_

**Then:**

Kyle treads carefully into Blaine's room. He's doing his homework halfheartedly, but he's watching his phone and refuses to acknowledge Kyle's arrival. "Blaine, he's not going to call you again."

"You don't know that," Blaine argues, but they both do. Even though Blaine waits for the rest of the day, it is less out of hope and more to confirm his suspicions.

* * *

 **Now:**

"Well, he _did_ threaten to burn him alive in his house," Sarah says. "When threats start getting specific, most people want to play it safe."

"But that's arson. And _murder_ ," he adds quickly. "Kyle wouldn't actually _do_ that."

"Do you really think he wouldn't?" Sarah asks. He twists his hands uneasily for a while, but at last he shakes his head.

* * *

 **Later:**

"You know, most people would be happy to hear that about their family," Kurt tells him sadly, and with a hint of pity. He wonders where Blaine got the idea that love pays attention to legality or reason; maybe it's because Blaine is so law-abiding and reasonable himself. "And just so you know, that's on the _low_ end of what Dad would do for me."

"How mad would someone be to even _say_ that?"

* * *

 **Then:**

Blaine's mother smiles gently and gives him a hug. "Well, now you know better, hmm?"

"...Yeah." It is barely audible against the disappointment in his throat. "Thanks, Mom."

She doesn't know that his disappointment is with her, and not himself.

* * *

 **Now:**

"What are you going to do about Kurt?" Sarah inquires, writing the last of her notes.

Blaine's face is weary, with his eyes sunken as if in quicksand. "I don't know."

* * *

 **Later:**

He curls an arm around Kurt's waist. "And then you said how you didn't even want to _think_ about it, and that just..."

"Oh," Kurt breathes.

* * *

 **Then:**

"You told _Mom?_ " Lydia facepalms. "Blaine, the only thing Mom worries about is if anyone gets pregnant - you know how she is! _God!_ "

She hugs him fiercely, and barely manages to rest her chin on his shoulder; for once in his life, he wishes he was shorter.

* * *

 **Now:**

"I just don't want him to end up feeling how I did," he says helplessly.

"Are you waiting until Kurt's ready, or until you stop being scared?" Sarah asks.

* * *

 **Later:**

Kurt leans into Blaine's chest, but it's only a few seconds before he complains about a kink forming in his neck. Blaine shifts to his left and ends up with bark in his hair; Kurt picks it out gently and sighs, then gets startled when Blaine's arms close around him like a net. "Whoa! Easy there - this jacket's homemade."

He swallows the lump in his throat and feels Kurt's arms circle his shoulders, but it's still an effort to get the words out and he's still not sure which of them to say.

 _I know better now. I know_   
_  
**you**   
_   
_better now. I wish my life was better; I wish your life was better than mine. I wish I hadn't screwed up my life - I wish I hadn't screwed up_   
_  
**your**   
_   
_life - I want you here with me, I want you making me better, I want you I want you I want you -_

"Blaine?" Kurt is serious again, and his eyes seem the same hollow, sorrowful shade as the sky.

"I wish it was with you."


	13. The Butterfly

_  
**Under the moon, the road that ran out from the edge of her forest gleamed like water, but when she stepped out onto it, away from the trees, she felt how hard it was, and how long. She almost turned back then; but instead she took a deep breath of the woods air that still drifted to her, and held it in her mouth like a flower, as long as she could.**   
_

When Mercedes and Kurt drop by Rachel's house after school, taking Blaine along in an insistence that he needs to broaden his social circle, he goes along as he usually does. Hiram and Leroy Berry are astonishingly laid-back and friendly, considering that they're the ones who raised Rachel, but it does explain why she always acts entitled to everything. Hiram is particularly doting, and certainly looks the part: Spectacled, barely Blaine's height, and perpetually smiling. He insists that they stay at least ten feet away from Rachel's door until ten minutes to six o'clock.

"She does her daily singing video around now," he tells them apologetically. "When in doubt, stay out of the left hallway - but if you need to go any further in, do not go past the spike tape." He motions to the wall, each side of which has two bright blue X's a few inches below their eyes.

"But Mr. Berry, I don't hear anything," Blaine points out, brow furrowed.

Kurt nods. "Yeah. If _Rachel_ were singing, she'd be so loud that Broadway's casting directors would be beating down the doors to make her stop." He thinks a moment. "Have you sound-proofed her room recently?" He asks, which makes Mercedes laugh and Blaine stifle a chuckle.

"Oh, Kurt, she finished the actual _song_ about ten minutes ago," Hiram explains as he ushers them into the living room. "I imagine she's moved on to her ending commentary by now."

"Figures," Mercedes says with a sigh, though her tone isn't quite as scathing as it would have been at the start of Glee Club. "Who's betting she lets the house burn down while she's on her hour of daily attention-whoring?"

Hiram passes them freshly-opened cans of soda, still misty from the fridge as they take spots on the couch in front of the TV. "I think it's a solid plan," Blaine remarks, feeling that he should step in _somehow._ "Some solitary practice keeps your voice in good form."

" _That's_ the spirit," Hiram says. He passes again through the kitchen and catches sight of a Post-It on the fridge. "By the way, if anyone comes, it should be the UPS guy with Leroy's package," he calls back to them. "You'll need me or Rachel to sign for it."

Blaine sits on the couch, and he feels a little bit strange with how _normal_ everything is. Granted, most people act normally around him, but most people outside of Dalton and his family don't know he's gay, and the ones that are tend to be hiding in the closet themselves. He wonders how people outside of those networks would treat him if he were like Kurt, who broadcasts it with every step, and he wonders if maybe he should start doing that soon.

But then a memory rockets to the surface of his mind, as sudden and swift as if he'd been hit.

 _It's been two weeks, nine hours, and twelve minutes after the Sadie Hawkins dance. The bruises are all but gone, Blaine no longer needs medication for his shoulder (though his arm is still in a sling), and Terry no longer winces when he puts weight on his right ankle. Blaine and Terry are at Blaine's house in the parlor, not really listening to the TV; they just sit in silence. Terry tells him out of nowhere: "We never got to finish our dance, by the way."_

 _"Actually, we did. You just got a minor concussion when someone tried to curb-stomp you," Blaine corrects hesitantly._

 _Terry laughs. The sound reverberates in his chest like a sleeping lion's growl, though his eyes remain bitter. "Well. Either way, there are missing scenes in my head, and I intend to fill them in." He gets up heavily, even though he starts off on his good leg. "So, Blaine Anderson, may I have this dance?" He is smiling, and there is only a trace of bitterness that vanishes completely when Blaine accepts._

 _They circle slowly in the room, out of time with the jangling TV commercials. Blaine feels a bit ridiculous with his shoulder immobile, and how his chin can barely reach Terry's neck. But it is better than the first time, when he tried to ignore the snickers and revulsion sneaking under the music. Eventually they stop, and Terry asks him: "You have no idea what we're doing, do you?"_

 _"Yes I do," Blaine argues. "We're dancing."_

 _"Yes, Blaine. We're slow-dancing in an empty room, alone, where no one can see us. But do you know why?"_

 _"You... got concussed and your head's still kind of wonky," he attempts. "If you still don't remember, the doctor said -"_

 _"Oh my god!" Terry hugs him, taking care with Blaine's bad shoulder. His arms are warm and disappointed, and Blaine knows that he missed something important, but he can't really tell what it is. "Blaine, really minor concussions don't fuck up your memory. I just pretended it did so I'd have an excuse to spend time with you."_

 _"Why would you do that?" Blaine asks into his shirt, and his neck is getting a bit sore. "You don't need an excuse to spend time with me."_

 _"Apparently not." Terry pulls Blaine tighter. "But it's the principle of the thing."_

 _"What thing?" Blaine asks, and he feels Terry's neck muscles shift as he shakes his head._

 _"Never mind," he says. "You need the right person to get it."_

 _"Or you could just tell me?" Blaine pleads, and he feels Terry shake his head again. This time he is rocked a little, back and forth, like a little kid who fell off the jungle gym._

 _"I shouldn't need to," he says, and he laughs a bit sadly. The sound travels through Blaine's arm, echoing in the seat of his spine like a broken heart._

The doorbell rings, and Mercedes tramps through the hallway for Rachel while Blaine gets the door. "Hi! Just hold on a minute, she's..."

The box shifts down to the guy's waist, and now Blaine can see black hair, a broken nose, and dark, dark eyes - but the features aren't as high as he recalls, and he looks more solid than he used to.

"Terry." He can't quite manage a question in his shock. Mercedes and Rachel are coming towards them from the left, and he thinks he should leave or move a little, but his legs aren't really cooperating. Terry seems just as surprised to find Blaine answering the door, and that he's almost normal-height.

He can see Kurt turn to look from the edge of his vision. "Blaine, do you know him? Because I don't think Rachel's changed her name in the past five minutes."

"Yeah," Blaine manages, breathless, after a long moment of trying. "Yeah, Kurt - this is Terry Hanari. Terry, this is Kurt. Kurt Hummel." He makes a gesture with his hands, unsure of what he's signalling or who he's trying to cue. But the motion sets off a smile that sparks helpless, maniacal laughter, and soon Terry sets down the package to join in.

At some point Terry starts to sound more like he's crying, and at some point he steps inside and catches Blaine up in a hug that is even more bone-crushing than the tenor remembers.

And at some point they say, more to themselves than whoever has asked why Blaine is now surgically attached to the UPS guy: "I haven't seen you in two years."

-  
 ** _"No, no, listen, don't listen to me, listen. You can find your people if you are brave. They passed down all the roads long ago, and the Red Bull ran close behind them and covered their footprints. Let nothing you dismay, but don't be half-safe." His wings brushed the unicorn's skin._**

 _  
**"The Red Bull?" she asked. "What is the Red Bull?"**   
_

_  
**The butterfly started to sing.**   
_

"Mr. Stoneridge," David says awkwardly in Bob's office, "I have this friend who might be in trouble."

"I won't tell anyone else," he reassures; David shakes his head, which is a good sign. It's a fifty-fifty chance with Dalton's resident show-choir whether "I have this friend" means that they're "secretly" talking about themselves, as the usual situation goes, or if they're literally talking about a friend. It's kind of sweet how they look out for each other like an army troop, even if it means the counselors have to spend Saturdays piecing everything together with the teachers.

"No, I mean literally - one of my friends might be in trouble," he says in all seriousness. "He said not to tell anyone we knew, but he never said anything about someone who wasn't a peer."

Dear god, he's serious. Bob sighs inwardly, cleans his glasses, and then gets out his notepad for the flood of information. "Is it about Blaine, Jeff, or Nick?"

David stops whatever he was going to say with his dark skin going ashen, and that means yes. "...I'd prefer to leave out names."

Which means Blaine. Bob nods, though he fights a growing urge to slam his forehead against the desk: When Blaine isn't the one in counseling, he's usually the one who insists that he stay unnamed when others talk about him. The poor boys seem blissfully unaware of how obvious it is - it's gotten to the point where "a/my friend," when said by another Warbler, is automatically replaced with _Blaine_ in the counselors' weekly situational puzzle.

 _Tell Sarah just in case,_ he writes down immediately. "Well, tell me about it and I'll see what I can do," he says, steeling himself for the verbal tide - but it turns out simple, easy to follow, and infinitely harder to process.

"This guy's been following him around for about a week, and..." He takes out a pocket notebook. "Yeah, he's either too far for us to see his face or he's wearing something to hide it. The most I can tell is that he's a little taller than normal, he's tan, and he _might_ be blond."

Trust David to notice patterns so quickly and write _everything_ down. Bob wouldn't be surprised if David's written down the exact times and places, too. There goes Bob's heart, speeding like a racehorse, and the urge to slam his head on his desk is back in full force. "I think that counts as trouble," he apologizes faintly.

David gives a grim, feeble laugh. "I figured."

"Does your friend know what's happening?" He has to ask; if so, it would mean a drastic underestimation of their problem, a case of mistaken identity, or an imminent serial killer. If no, strike the first option and they will definitely need to notify campus security.

"That boy took four months to notice _Kurt!_ " David bursts with a scoff. "The hell is he gonna notice someone who _doesn't_ have a flashing neon sign going 'I want to jump your bones'? ... _Shit._ " He breaks off and clamps his mouth shut, but it is both worrying and relieving that Bob's suspicions are confirmed.

Bob crosses out ' _just in case,_ ' underlines ' _Tell Sarah,_ ' and adds an exclamation point or two. Or ten.

-  
"How the fuck does Blaine get into these things?" Nick grouses in the secret Warbler meeting. "He fell for someone who went out for _coffee_ twice with him - not even goddamn _real_ dates - then he took five million years to hook up with someone who desperately wanted to jump his bones, and now he's got a fucking _stalker!_ "

"Remember," Thad says before the multitude of arguments can start, "the dean sent emails to all the students, and campus security has been notified to keep track of anyone who isn't a student, staff member, or properly-approved guest."

They wait expectantly.

"And we're working out a schedule for who accompanies Blaine at what times, under the guise of a general buddy system. Not that he'd get suspicious unless we put him on a twenty-four-hour suicide watch, but better safe than sorry."

Still waiting.

 _"What?"_ He asks desperately, and Wes sighs.

"No matter what happens, _don't hit first,_ " he tells them, and they finally look ready to leave. "Meeting adjourned." He bangs his gavel, which relieves them.

-  
Nick spots Blaine walking to his World History class, and the tenor slows down when he hears Nick tramping down the hall to catch up. "Hey, Nick! What's up?"

"Buddy system," Nick says simply.

"Uh... why?"

"You know there was a notice sent out about that creepy dude hanging around campus, right?" Nick asks. "Staff security said not to walk too many places alone, so the Council went crazy and started putting us all on a fucking _buddy system._ "

Nick really doesn't know why Wes and David are so anal-retentive about _considering Blaine's feelings_ and _keeping things secret_ , because it's really not that hard if you keep things simple. Blaine's like a puppy - always going around _believing in people_ and _wanting to help._ He'd probably go along with _anyone_ as long as they said it with a straight face, and that's probably why he went all Knight-In-Shining-Armor with Kurt - oh. _Oh._

"- only useful for the grounds?"

Damn it, Blaine was talking! "Sorry, what was that? I kind of spaced."

"Wouldn't the buddy system only be effective outside of the literal school buildings? I mean, we've got tons of security cameras and all."

"Yeah, well, cameras don't do shit if you actually need help," Nick points out. "You remember what happened with me and Jeff last year?"

-  
"Oh fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfucking shit," Jeff says upon coming back to the pool area, and Nick presumes that something is amiss. But right now he is stoned out of his mind, and the pool looks like a water bed, and who the hell's saying _nonononono Nick, what the hell?!_ It takes him a minute to realize he's going to the pool, and another minute to realize that he's actually in the water. He sucks in a breath to laugh, and _holy hell his lungs are on fire and they're soggy at the same time owowowowow -_

He flails in terrified annoyance until a dark shape surges in next to him, dragging him back to the surface, and the guy looks kind of like Batman, only he doesn't have his mask on and he sort of looks like Jeff. Maybe he dyed his hair, though - Batman's crazy-prepared like that. "Don't worry, Bruce, I won't tell anyone your secret identity!" But wait, his last name is Grayson, and so does that mean he's Robin? "Shit - sorry, Dad!" Oh fuck, he's not supposed to curse! Is he? Well, Batman _definitely_ wouldn't be big on drugs...

"Oh my god," the person tugs Nick towards the pool's edge and drags him onto the concrete. "My name's _Jeff_ , and I am -"

"Vengeance," he slurs between spitting out bits of lung and the evil, evil pool water. He waits a few minutes, and his lungs feel better, but Batman still isn't finishing the speech. "Dude, you're supposed to keep going!"

"Keep going with _what?_ Never mind." Jeff slings Nick's arm over his head and heaves him up. "Just keep quiet. If someone who isn't Mrs. Warren finds out you're stoned on campus, you'll be in so much trouble."

Nick can hear the dripdripslide of his shoes in the hallway, and soon another set of footsteps comes closer in response. "Dude, I'm like a magnet for footsteps!"

"Nick, remember what I told -" Jeff stops dead when he realizes what Nick said, and when they nearly bump into a teacher - Ms. Bradford, from science. But she only glances at their drenched clothes and Nick's boneless gait for a moment before she sighs.

"I'll give the nurse a head's up." She switches directions immediately, and it seems that the chlorine is drowning out the smell of pot.

"Thanks, Ms. Bradford," Jeff calls.

-  
"Okay, point," Blaine says. "But I'm not going to get high anytime soon."

"That wasn't the point," Nick says patiently. "The point was that if Jeff wasn't with me, I would have drowned. Or got caught and put in detention, which would suck balls. And that's why we decided to implement a buddy system, because who the hell knows why a dude's hanging around a high school campus? He could be a stalker or a serial killer or something."

Blaine sighs and is about to run a hand through his hair before he stops and rubs the back of his neck. "That's a little overblown, but no harm in being careful."

And that establishes just how careful Blaine _isn't._ Jesus Christ, no wonder he gets into all this shit.


	14. The Witch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost lost track of the Glee half of the timeline, so I had to watch a few episodes to jog my memory. And I've probably fudged things up at least a little, so apologies for any incongruities.
> 
> Also, finding out the title for the second episode FREAKED ME OUT. "I Am Unicorn?" RIB, I DID IT FIRST. Of course, my fears were assuaged by the fact that it bears no resemblance to my story aside from Kurt and Brittany being compared to unicorns. And how ridiculously awesome those posters were.
> 
> Please note that what happens here is due to my watching "It Takes a Thief." Sorry in advance for making you guys paranoid.

_  
**If she had not been dreaming of home, she would surely have roused at the sound of wheels and jingling coming closer through the night, even though the wheels were muffled in rags and the bells wrapped in wool. But she was very far away, farther than the soft bells could go, and she did not wake.**   
_

Kurt can't take trips to Westerville as often as he'd like anymore, what with the stupid oil prices, the general bad economy, and the oil _spill_ dumping about a kazillion gallons' worth of gas into the ocean instead of his Navigator, where it should be. So this is his first visit to Dalton after about three weeks, and the Warblers typically turn this into an excuse for an after-school-party-in-all-but-name in Blaine and Wes' dorm. "A celebration for little old me? You're too kind," he tells them jokingly.

"You were our countertenor for half a year," David tells him. "You get a fucking _party._ Now give us a minute." So Blaine and Kurt are a little surprised when he shuts the door on them.

-  
"Remember, guys," David says. "No alcohol, drugs, or _weed._ " The last one is emphasized with a look in Nick's direction.

"Weed is a drug," Nick points out.

"Yeah, but you're in particular need of reminders," Thad tells him amidst the reluctant groans of the others.

"And guys, remember Blaine's _problem_?" Wes goes on. "He gets even stupider when he's drunk, and there's no telling what might happen if we lose track of him."

The reluctance turns to remembrance. "Oh god - if he makes out with one of _us_ , he won't even have the wrong-gender excuse!" Martin says. "Kurt's gonna kill him if that happens! Or he's gonna _cry!_ "

Wes facepalms. "No, the _other_ problem."

"Oh - creepy stalking creepster! Right," Nick recalls. "Wait, he's out there alone!"

"No, he's with Kurt," David assures them. "Kurt's smart. He won't let _either_ of them get kidnapped or raped or murdered."

-  
"So, why did we get locked out of our own party?" Kurt asks. "It's kind of hard to be the guest of honor if I'm stuck in the hallway."

"Eh... the Council's probably warning them not to let the party get too crazy. They'll be a couple more minutes." Blaine sits down, with Kurt following suit, but they stand back up when a delivery guy comes up with a package. He's quite a bit taller than either of them, and though they can't see his hair through the baseball cap, his skin is very tan; he looks either nervous or merely frazzled. The guy spots the crest on Blaine's shirt and homes in on him gratefully.

"Hi," Blaine says. "Are you looking for someone?"

"Is your name Blaine? Because the office said he should be in this dorm and - you know." He holds the package up in explanation, though he shifts it back into the crook of his arm.when Blaine clearly doesn't recognize the package.

Blaine frowns. "That's weird - the only thing I ordered is pizza, and that was ten minutes ago."

"And _that's_ not pizza." Kurt points out, eying the package: It is a standard five-pound shipping box that doesn't look like it holds any kind of food, much less a flat and round pizza. "Unless it comes in a can now."

The delivery guy chuckles and shifts around. "Sorry, I'm even _more_ lost."

"Oh, hang on! The office might have mixed me up with Blaine _Bakir,_ " Blaine realizes, and they hear someone open the door to let them in. "Just turn the corner - his door's the first one on the right."

"Okay, _thank you._ " The guy says, heading off with a grateful smile.

David's face is either appalled or confused - it's really hard to tell with the hallway lights set to their dim night-setting. "Blaine, who was that?"

"Delivery guy," he answers. "The package was for Muslim Blaine and the office mixed things up by accident. So, can we come inside?"

 _"Right now,"_ David says tightly. The other two look at him in concern.

"Something wrong?"

"Yeah, fine," he says, letting out his breath. "But keeping track of twenty-two people in a ten-by-twenty-foot room is surprisingly stressful."

Kurt laughs in sympathy. "Oh, David, you'd _die_ at McKinley. Twenty people is the smallest class you can get there."

As the two of them head to an unoccupied patch of the couch, David pulls out his phone and sends a text to the other two council members, who jolt or stop mid-sentence. _Bastard knows where Blaine SLEEPS now!_

 _Mass text the others?_ from Thad, and David nods across the room.

 _Staff?_ from Wes. David sends an all-caps "YES" while Thad sends the mass-text. In moments, yelps or jolts of surprise signal a cacophony of ringtones. Blaine looks at them in confusion. "Thad, why did you text two-thirds of the Warblers when everyone's already here?"

"Force of habit," he tells Blaine sheepishly. "And I was just warning people to stay on the buddy system."

"The _what_ system?" Kurt asks.

"There's this guy wandering around campus," David explains. "Security told us to watch out for anyone suspicious and not to walk alone too much."

Blaine's forehead creases. "So why didn't I get a text about the system?"

"Because you and Kurt are joined at the hip for the next fifty hours," Nick cuts in on his way to the soda. "Putting Blaine on the system when he's already got his boyfriend? That's like saying a shark needs more teeth."

-  
In the emergency staff meeting fifteen minutes later, Sarah sighs as they discuss the email from campus security. "It _never ends_ with Blaine, does it?"

"How did he get past the office staff?" Anita Warren demands. "We have everyone show their IDs before they can go further! Fake IDs don't show up on the system, and _doctored_ IDs would have been caught!"

"He probably _did_ use his actual card," Sarah points out. "Remember, we didn't know his name for a while and none of the Warblers could get a good look at him."

"Why would he use his real ID, though?" The dean Roger Dunham asks.

"Because that marks him as _law-abiding,_ which means he can hide in plain sight," Sarah tells him. "Real thieves wouldn't charge through your front door with a crowbar and a duffel bag - not if they can help it. They'll pretend to be a delivery guy or the mailman, knock at the door or ask the neighbors, and then leave when they find out nobody's there or they have the wrong address. Then they come back later in a different car and a different outfit, and break in through the _back_ door."

"And he _still_ might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time," Bob adds. "We can't start refusing access to every tall man with blond or brown hair, even if we explain the situation. People can dye their hair, you know."

"Wait," Officer Rick Travis cuts in while he checks the camera monitor. "He said he had a package for Blaine Anderson to the staff, but look here."

 _"- office said he should be in this dorm and - you know." The man holds up the package, but sticks it under his arm again when Blaine looks confused._

 _"That's weird - the only thing I ordered is pizza, and that was ten minutes ago."_

 _"And **that's** not pizza," Kurt points out. "Unless it comes in a can now."_

 _The delivery guy chuckles and shifts around. "Sorry, I'm even more lost."_

 _"Oh, hang on! The office might have mixed me up with Blaine **Bakir,** " Blaine realizes. David opens the door to let them in, and looks as horrified as the teachers feel to see the man walking away. "Just turn the corner - his door's the first one on the right."_

That makes everyone go quiet. After a moment, Sarah groans and puts her head on the table. "Blaine didn't even ask to see the _name_ on the package."

"Wait, that's it?" Edgar Stahl asks. "As glad as I am that nothing happened, Blaine was _right there._ "

"So was Kurt," Bob reminds them. "And even if Kurt wasn't _there,_ it's pretty obvious that there are a lot of potential witnesses right on the other side of the door."

Anita goes for the door. "We need to tell him that he's -"

 _"Wait!"_ Sarah and Bob reach the door first and block it.

"We're still not sure if it's just a _really_ unlucky coincidence!" Bob reminds them. "Blaine was already outside and he was wearing the Dalton logo. Rick, play the rest of the tape."

 _The man rounds the corner, throws the package in the nearest trash can, and writes something down on a notepad._

"Okay, go," Bob tells Anita, who makes a beeline to the dorms.

Sarah facepalms. "Bastard knows where Blaine _sleeps_ now."


	15. The Creatures of Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Notes:** More freaky coincidences from RIB - Blaine's age has been retconned to sixteen, and guess what special milestone he'll share with Kurt this season? That's right, RIB has softened up my backstory of "Blaine punches the V-card at sixteen." Y U GUYS BE PSYCHICS, RIB?

_  
**Mommy Fortuna looked at him for a long time. "You're a fool, too, magician," she snickered at last, "but a worse fool than Rukh, and a more dangerous one. He lies only out of greed, but you lie out of fear. Or could it be kindness?"**   
_

"Right," Thad tells the Warblers during a Friday rehearsal, "since Kurt transferred back to McKinley before we could start working on _any_ of the _RENT_ songs we were planning, we'll have to settle for the next best thing: _Spring Awakening._ "

"Let's do 'The Bitch of Living!'" Nick says, to a stifled chuckle from Jeff. Thad glares at him for a moment, and then he raises his hand grudgingly.

"Yes, Nick?"

"I _suggest_ that we sing ' _The Bitch of Living_ ,'" Nick repeats with liberal emphasis on the title.

"We'll consider your suggestion, but right now we should get people up to speed on the plot," Wes tells him automatically, to an eye-roll from Nick.

"It's _RENT_ without the countertenor! There, we're good!" Nick says to the other Warblers, who are already tuning out in preparation for the imminent argument, then turns back to the Council's desk.

"It is _not_ ' _RENT_ without the countertenor,'" Thad counters. "You're thinking of the music."

"Oh god, no!" Brandon clutches his temples. "Thad, please tell me we aren't spending half our rehearsals on 'discussing the context of the songs' again! It's not like we're going to perform the whole thing! Not after we tried working with the drama guys last year!"

"Those bastards fucked everything up!" Martin adds, incensed.

"They did _not_ , they just have a different process -"

"Which sucks!"

As the rehearsal devolves into the expected turmoil, Blaine heads over to Trent - it's easier to talk to one person as opposed to going through the Council's policy of raising your hand and waiting for a response from all three of them. (And they're too distracted for that right now.) "So, _Spring Awakening_?" He asks over the others' raised voices.

"Group of teenagers go through hardships, and a couple of them die," Trent says. "And there's a sort-of sex scene between the two leads."

"Huh - how come I didn't hear about it?" Even Kurt hasn't heard of it, or he would have had it on his iPhone.

"It was only on Broadway for three years before the economy went down." Trent ponders the plot again before going on. "Okay, so - teens in late nineteenth-century Germany; a girl has sex, gets pregnant, and dies from a botched abortion. A boy shoots himself because one, he's sexually frustrated in a time where sex ed is _worse_ than abstinence-only education and two, his parents put a lot of pressure on him to do well in school and he cracks. The girl's baby-daddy - who _also_ happens to be the other guy's best friend - has to learn to deal with it."

"...That's not a younger RENT at all," Blaine remarks, feeling like he's stated the obvious. "In fact, it sounds like a standard coming-of-age story with music."

"The music's better than the plot," Trent admits.

* * *

The argument is solved in a record-breaking forty minutes, and David plugs his iPod into the SoundDock to play the male cast's songs. The majority of the songs are what Blaine expected from a group of guys their age: Angry, vulgar, catchy, and firmly on the "rock" part of rock-opera. But then a long pause heralds a barely audible ballad; David looks pained as he turns up the volume and rewinds it. "It's always the quiet song," he grouses.

Now that they can hear it, the song is hypnotic and almost mournful. There is soft, half-finished imagery about ships and hymns, strange but fitting for the dreamy lilt of the music - and then the third verse yanks him into realization, sparking an avalanche of snickers at the look on his face.

"Someone _just_ figured out it's about sex, didn't he?" Martin smirks.

"Oh my god." Blaine's head lands on his desk with an emphatic thump, but David grins and pauses the song.

"Let's be fair, now - nobody told Blaine that the song's name is _Touch Me_." He rewinds it. "Even _you_ know what to expect now."

" _Shut up._ " But he listens to the first two verses, and the rocking rise and fall takes on a distressingly intimate feeling. And Blaine knows what intimacy feels like, because he's kind of had sex before and it's _really_ hard to forget (no matter how much he tries). He curls up around his desk again; the teasing tones are replaced by mild worry, and someone gives him an apologetic jostle during the mid-song dialogue.

 _Touch me - just try it_

 _Now, there, that's it - God, that's heaven_

This song is unexpectedly beautiful, considering the rest of the songs are so _obvious,_ but it's a lot more ecstatic than he feels ( _I'll love your light, I'll love you right_ ). Maybe it's because of what happened after he had sex ( _We'll wander down where the sins cry_ ); after all, when your brother puts a restraining order on your first via death threat, it tends to kill anything positive about the experience. Or the person.

 _Touch me - just like that_

 _Now lower down, where the sins lie_

And now he can't stop thinking about Kurt. But not the nice kind of thinking, the stupid awkward kind ( _Love me - just for a bit_ ). Like if he accidentally hurts Kurt, or if he messes up, or what if he freezes? ( _We'll wander down, where the winds sigh..._ ) Would Kurt take over? What if he thinks something's wrong with _him_? Kurt always thinks something's wrong with him. God, why don't people sing about what happens when you've already _had_ sex?

"Okay, little hapa," Wes shakes his shoulder, and Blaine realizes that everything's quiet. "Normally when you're uncomfortable, you squirm around and you do that annoying laugh every five seconds. When you black out for two hours just listening to a song, I assume you're _really_ uncomfortable."

"Gah!" He shoots up and sees that everyone but himself, Wes, and David has left.

"It's only been five minutes," David tells him fondly. In the empty practice room, the two of them look at him as carefully as if their expressions might cut him. "So," he says.

Blaine fiddles with his backpack, and he can feel his face turning red. "I'm... fine."

"You were fine with 'Animal' by Neon Trees, 'Misery' by Maroon 5, and 'Dance, Dance' by Fall Out Boy," David points out. "'Fine' means you aren't curling up and pretending you can't hear anything."

Right, he's sung sexy songs before. Really well. Why didn't he try to keep it together until everyone left? "Um... with this one - it's really... _evocative._ "

"Blaine, songs about sex are _all_ evocative," David tells him with a hint of exasperation, though it's restrained when Blaine goes on frantically.

"Yeah, well, they usually sound like most of the other songs on the soundtrack," he says, fighting the urge to twist his hands (his backpack is _so_ not the same), "but then there's _that_ song and it - it's gorgeous and sweet and..." Blaine stops before he says _I wish I_ _still felt like that_ , and Wes thankfully mistakes the broken sentence for something else.

"Did you _sleep with Kurt_?" Wes asks, lips curving. Blaine's intensely relieved, yet he feels the memories bearing down on him like nails; he wishes one of them was psychic, because then he wouldn't have to say anything.

"No, but..." His redness might be passed off as embarrassment, so he looks down and mumbles something vaguely affirmative for good measure. But the other two look at him more closely, with David especially unconvinced.

"You're lying about _something_ ," David says to Blaine in resignation, but at least he doesn't try to pry the truth out. They let him leave to his dorm; Wes gets his bag.

"So what's the news, almighty therapist?"

"Blaine can't have slept with Kurt," David thinks aloud. "He'd be bouncing off the goddamn walls. And if he didn't sleep with Kurt _yet_ , he should be _liking_ that song because it's mushy and romantic and sweet."

"Maybe he's just uncomfortable with sexual intimacy?" Wes suggests as he checks for anything the others might have left by accident.

"Fuck that," David scoffs. " _Kurt's_ uncomfortable with sex, and _he's_ not hiding in a corner pretending he's deaf."

"Anymore," Wes corrects wryly.

"Yeah, but Kurt had his dad give him the sex talk - thanks to _Blaine_ \- and now everything's fine." David switches the lights off.

"Why would he make someone _else's_ dad give their son the sex talk?" Wes wonders. "That's overbearing, even for him."

"Well, _his_ dad's a homophobic douche who hasn't really talked to him in two years," the fellow Council member points out. "It's not like he'd care... what happens... to Blaine." He finishes, and in the yellow light of the doorway they can see the comprehension on each other's faces.

"Blaine acted like the most romantic sex song in the history of sex ruptured his eardrums," Wes begins.

"He's _really_ over-the-top in not putting pressure on Kurt."

"I have not _once_ seen him handle morning wood with anything but a cold shower," Wes goes on, half-exasperated and half-realizing, "and when he says 'one minute, I'm almost done' in the bathroom, he really _is_ almost done with whatever mundane thing he's doing."

"And he literally needs to _be told_ if someone _wants to jump his bones_ ," David finishes. In the ghost of the coffee shop, Kurt says to him, _He thinks I'm a broken little bird with crippling trauma._ Kurt has his wounds, but they aren't nearly as deep as Blaine insists they are.

* * *

"What the hell happened to Blaine?" David demands after the two barge into Sarah's office (which, luckily, is empty since she's just doing paperwork).

"I'm sorry, boys, but that's confidential." She grimaces, and doesn't seem very surprised.

"You don't have to tell us _specifics_ ," he pleads, "we just need to know why he blacked out listening to a song."

"He _what_?" She shoots from her seat, and a few papers flutter out of place.

"He didn't black out," Wes assures her. "He just got so uncomfortable that... he curled up and pretended he couldn't hear anything."

This time she's surprised, but her mouth is still firm. "I'll have to hear it from him before I can draw any conclusions." She sighs and straightens her files out. "I still can't tell you anything, though."

* * *

 _  
**"It isn't like the others," she said.**   
_

_  
**"No," the magician agreed grudgingly. "But there's no credit due to Mommy Fortuna for that. You see, the spider believes. She sees those cats'-cradles herself and thinks them her own work. Belief makes all the difference to magic like Mommy Fortuna's."**   
_

It's been four weeks, three days, and eighteen hours since Alex finally managed to talk to Blaine. The poor thing's so oblivious to everything, Alex wonders if he should be put in a castle or something and only let out with a chaperone. Of course, that part is getting handled pretty well, with the choir-cum-bodyguards. Yes, he sees through their whole 'buddy-system' charade; it's adorable how everyone acts like Kyle and goes into overprotective-brother-mode at the barest hint of trouble.

It totally sucks that Blaine didn't want the package - then again, most people don't like clothes as gifts. And he's hardly ever out of his Dalton uniform, anyway, except on weekends when he goes and visits that horrible excuse for a boyfriend of his.

If it were Alex, he wouldn't be forcing Blaine to drive back and forth between two towns just for a date, and he wouldn't be acting like he hardly knows him in public. One or both of them has to give, but he knows guys like Kurt all too well; proud, demanding, stubborn, and he worms his way out of things with those big blue eyes of his. He's never going to do anything for anyone, and Blaine, bless his soul, has no clue what kind of snare he's been trapped with.

All take plus all give - yeah, _that's_ going to end well.

But Blaine _is_ a teenager, and they aren't known for rationality. It worried Alex a little at first, but then he remembered when he was a teen and how long it took him to realize that beautiful people can have shitty personalities, too. If it took him a few months, there's no telling how long it'll take _Blaine_. Although it _does_ mean that Blaine's actually human and not some angelic being who fell to earth one day.

"One of these days, Blaine," he sighs.


	16. The Harpy

**  
_Sparrows and cats will live in my shoe,  
Sooner than I will live with you.  
Fish will come walking out of the sea,  
Sooner than you will come back to me._   
**

"- _so_ weird that I'm taller than him now." Kurt shifts a little on the grass, taking care not to bump the weathered vase of new flowers. The buds are barely open, with bits of white peeking through the tops. "I mean, after living with Finn and being overexposed to Rachel's hobbit-like stature as a result, it's jarring to be reminded that I'm not actually _short_."

His mother's picture doesn't answer - just keeps smiling at him with her clear blue eyes - but he fills in the silence with a half-remembered singsong tone. He has long gotten over the anxiety of looking crazy, because his schoolmates feel too uncomfortable to make fun of him at his mom's grave. Once, when Azimio saw Kurt heading over here, the countertenor heard the usual smug jeering until the football player saw the spidery gates of the cemetery. His voice died like a snuffed candle and when Kurt left for home an hour later, there was nobody waiting to make fun of him.

And Kurt _does_ like seeing her.

"I think you'd like him," he muses. "You would definitely have helped with the whole 'my future boyfriend made Dad give me the sex talk' fiasco." A sheepish chuckle. "God, Dad's face when I told him..."

 _"I wish it was with you," Blaine says into Kurt's jacket, voice as soft as the flat palms on his back._

"Sometimes I worry, though," Kurt admits. "Blaine just... goes along with everything. And then he gets this confused-puppy look when I remind him that I am, in fact, his boyfriend as opposed to his liege lord. I think he's trying to make up for the months of complete obliviousness."

-  
Sarah tells Blaine the following Wednesday, "Not to worry you or anything, but Wes and David said on Friday -" His face sinks into his hands, like a dog frantically searching for shelter. "I'm guessing you expected this?" She really shouldn't feel like laughing and desperately keeps her mouth from curving up, but his face looks like a cross between seasickness and regular mortification.

"Everyone's been asking me about that!" And he fires off a list of questions.

-  
 _"So what happened last Friday?" Martin asks him in Biology. "Normally when you feel awkward, you get that creepy Joker smile on your face -"_

 _Blaine moves to the next lab table, dropping his backpack emphatically._

 _-  
"Did you sleep with Kurt?" Nick asks at Jeff's house, and the tenor sprays half his drink all over the coffee table. He wipes it off and hopes Nick will leave the matter, but the other Warbler goes on: "Dude, it's okay if your first time isn't actually good enough to sing about. That shit in romance movies where everyone's instantly good at it -"_

 _He leaves immediately with his face scarlet - then sprints all the way back from his car to keep the other two from splitting his lunch. "...What?!"_

 _"If you don't want people to steal your lunch, either take it with you or don't run off like that," Jeff counters. To the blond's chagrin, Blaine makes a point of stuffing his lunch in his bag before he leaves again._

 _-  
"You've been pretty jumpy since yesterday," Greg remarks, and Blaine shifts his weight on the couch. "What happened?"_

 _"Nothing?" Blaine tries. "Okay, I've just been..." Hiding something really big because if it made **Kyle** threaten to murder someone, I am not about to tell **you** , he thinks guiltily. "In rehearsal, we were listening to this musical, Spring Awakening, and th-the subject matter was... explicit."_

 _"It's one of those coming-of-age stories about sex, isn't it?" Greg asks, which makes Blaine cringe. The man is amused and a little bit concerned; his face can't quite decide which emotion to express._

-  
"And Greg just keeps giving me this guilty look and asking if I need to _talk_ ," Blaine says in despair. "It's weird, knowing that _he_ doesn't know, and I just..."

"So why don't you tell him?" she asks him. He shakes his head and doesn't answer for a while, so she repeats it. "Keeping it secret just stresses you out, so why don't you just tell someone and get it over with?"

"Because I'll screw it up," he tells her, twisting his hands. "I blurt things out at the wrong time, or I overthink it... At best they'll think I'm just embarrassed and they'll be _happy_ about it, and at worst I'll accidentally make myself sound like a _rape victim_ or something, and they'll go crazy."

"You don't have a problem with telling Kurt anything," Sarah points out. To her surprise, Blaine nearly scoffs - he's this close to letting it escape before he clamps his mouth shut in guilt. "What?"

"Kurt's not - going to jump to conclusions and act like I'm this helpless, sheltered prince that needs defending."

"Well," Sarah admits cautiously, "you've got this huge mansion, and hardly anyone else is there with you."

"Well, they're... _busy._ Or in California, or on a job..." It is an old, weary excuse, kept beating by virtue of being true.

"Your parents don't even call you." She cuts straight to the point - again - and he fidgets in either guilt or nervousness. "And you don't really call them that much, come to think of it."

"They don't have to keep _track_ of me anymore," Blaine says weakly. It's Sarah's turn to shift uneasily, because this is so _backwards_ \- if anything, teenagers need _more_ supervision than children, just not in the way people expect.

Sarah remembers her mother calling every day for a routine 'Did you get home all right?' She remembers being able to set her clock by that, and using traffic as an excuse to be late, and the quick-rooting doubt whenever the calls _didn't_ come. "Your parents should be making excuses for you, not the other way around."

He sighs and sags out of the window's white light, but he doesn't say anything. Sarah is actually relieved for that, but she can't keep a pang of sorrow away at the defeat in his face. Even if he's just not saying things out loud, it's better than not making progress at all.

"So, what's the deal about Friday?" She returns to the original subject, and dread cracks through Blaine's weariness. "You never had a problem with sex songs before, so I'm guessing it has to be _really_ over-the-top."

"It is, but it's not 'Oh, I need to fuck you right now' or anything. It's actually really... the closest it gets to explicit is the title of the song, and - all the..." He shrinks away, whiter than paper.

"So it left things to your imagination?" Sarah asks, and gets an uncertain nod.

"Since I've, you know..." He is extremely glad that he doesn't have to explain. "Ever since I heard that song -" he breaks off, but continues with growing desperation. "I remember Kurt said that Broadway doesn't focus too much on that, but _god,_ at least half of Spring Awakening's soundtrack is about sex! And I keep thinking about _Kurt_ that way, and it's actually - but that's not the bad part," he admits with an overwhelmed laugh. "It's just, once I started listening to the song again to get used to it, I realized why my first relationship ended up like it did."

"You know how things can blow up now?" She tries it just in case Blaine needs a reminder, but the nod is more cursory this time.

"I wanted him to stay with me." He forces it out as he hugs his bag. "I mean, I was used to Kyle coming and going, but... Lydia just flew to California and Dad wasn't talking to me, and Mom just keeps going 'Oh, sweetie, just give him time,' and - and it's been _two years._ " His fingers strangle the corners of his bag, and his eyes are shining wet.

This is unexpected, but the counselor knows better than to try changing the subject now. "Since when?"

"I wanted him to stay with me," he repeats in a helpless whisper, wiping his face. Sarah doesn't ask who he's talking about because if _she's_ confused, there's no way Blaine will be able to answer coherently. He could mean Kurt, or his first, or his father, or all three of them. But she definitely knows this is progress, and she writes down as much as she remembers.

"I think you've had a breakthrough," She says to him gently, fishing out a box of tissues from the bottom drawer. He takes them carefully, one at a time, as he holds the box down on the desk.

  
_  
**"You must never run from anything immortal. It attracts their attention." Her voice was gentle, and without pity. "Never run," she said. "Walk slowly, and pretend to be thinking of something else. Sing a song, say a poem, do your tricks, but walk slowly and she may not follow."**   
_

After school, Blaine meets in a coffee-shop with Terry; they are catching up, and making sure the other won't drop off the earth again. Terry hasn't seen Blaine since a month after the Sadie Hawkins dance, but Blaine stopped getting calls from Terry a few weeks before that summer.

"I changed my phone and I was so busy trying to get a new one that I _completely_ forgot to make sure I still had your number," Terry admits.

"How does _that_ happen?" Blaine takes a sip of coffee and winces at the heat.

"I left it in my jeans... and then I did laundry." Terry shreds the remnants of his sandwich in embarrassment.

"Oh, _god._ " Blaine laughs. Neither of them notice the blond guy in the corner hiding behind his laptop. After all, there's at least three more people surfing the Web - one of them switches between skimming her text and typing furiously.

-  
On the weekend, Blaine is walking with Kurt in the park. Prom is coming up next week, and amidst the tangled race of Prom Royalty competitors, Blaine is very confused. "Nearly half of the New Directions are running against each other," he says. "Aren't Puck and Finn best friends?"

"Generally, but Quinn and Lauren _hate_ each other," Kurt reminds him. "I'm surprised there are only five; I thought for sure that Rachel would rope someone in and run for -" A jogger makes no effort to go around Kurt, nearly knocking him into the grass.

"Sorry about that!" She says in a cloying voice. Blaine's throat tightens.

"Hey!" Blaine moves at her, livid, and the woman swings around too readily.

"Aww, did I break your little fairy?" She asks him, brown strands clinging to the sides of her face. Blaine fights the urge to close in on her.

"No, but it's worrying that a woman _your age_ is hanging around teenagers," Blaine says, and immediately regrets it: She's the one to bridge the gap, and he wishes he could have just punched her in the face because _crap she is mad._

"You're calling _me_ a pervert?!"

 _In for an inch, in for a mile,_ he figures. He shoots a sweet smile back at her. "That is _awfully_ specific -"

 _"Blaine."_ Kurt grabs his arm and looks him in the eyes, sharp and warning, before he pulls Blaine back. "Sorry about that, ma'am. Accidents happen, but nothing's hurt except your egos. He didn't mean it - right?"

His mouth works to break the silence, and the woman dares him to say yes with her smile. "No," Blaine says. _I can't mean what I never said,_ he reconciles. The woman's stare is disappointed, but ultimately triumphant; she knows she's won, and her eyes burn into their backs as they walk away, with three long steps of space between them.

After she's out of sight, once the two of them reach the emptiness of the baseball field, he takes Kurt's hand.


	17. Captain Cully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about leaving this untouched for so long. College sucked out all my free time for a while.

_**"It would be the last unicorn in the world that came to Molly Grue." She reached up then to lay her hand on the unicorn's cheek, but both of them flinched a little, and the touch came to rest on the swift, shivering place under the jaw. Molly said, "It's all right. I forgive you."** _

_Hot and dark. Hands rest, white like water on his ribs. Blaine can feel a breath ghost past his neck, and Kurt's hands trickle down the base of his spine -_

He wakes up noiselessly, panic settling around him in the dark. For a moment he can't feel his clothes, and then he feels stupid because it's not like they'd vanish. And his dorm-mate is Wes, anyway - stoic, restrained, and very, very straight. Blaine stumbles to the bathroom immediately, awkward and stiffly hunched out of habit. The light burns white-green at the back of his skull when he flicks it on. Soon after he peels his clothes off and steps into the shower, he hears Wes awaken with a groan.

" _Please_ tell me you're jacking off," he slurs, and the shock of that is enough to kill any of Blaine's lingering reactions. "Contrary to what the other Warblers might think, I am perfectly fine with that as long as you clean up after. And you _would,_ so - you know what, screw it. You're not."

It's at once relieving and sad to know that _Wes_ is more okay with sex than he is. Blaine exhales; it comes out miserable, more like sobbing than shivering, and he hopes Wes doesn't notice. But under the rush of the water, he thinks he hears another, guiltier groan.

-  
Ten minutes later, he comes out of the bathroom mostly dry, though the remnants of goosebumps linger on his skin. He checks the clock on the way back to bed: It reads 3:18 in neon green. Just enough time for him to forget this ever happened.

"So, little hapa, what's up?" Wes' voice is smoother and undeniably awake. The silhouette of his head and shoulders presses against the other wall.

"Nothing," he answers, without much hope for it working. "Anymore?" He attempts, but he can still feel Wes' eyes burning through his sheets. The tenor curls into his pillow, as much for warmth as for hiding.

"I'm turning the lights on," Wes says with a sigh. Blaine shuts his eyes until he hears the click of the switch, and he opens them carefully as Wes pads back to his bed. "At first I thought your cold-shower fits were the exceptions, because they never happened that often. Two or three times a month, at most."

Okay, this is... he doesn't really know, so he lets Wes go on. _Am I really that predictable?_ he catches himself wondering.

"Then you met Kurt, and they started happening once a week." Wes adds in exasperation: "Which is _still_ pretty infrequent, considering you're seventeen. I thought maybe you just had _that_ low of a sex drive - I'm not one to judge - but now that you finally hooked up with him, you're waking me up at unholy hours, with the shower _already_ full blast -"

"Oh god, really?!" Blaine forgets about being embarrassed, shooting up urgently. "I'm so sorry, I thought you just went back to -"

The council member makes a noise between a groan and a growl. "Not the point right now, Blaine."

"So - what is?" He asks, stealing a look over his shoulder at Wes; it's not very reassuring.

"I have a test in algebra today," Wes states, "and I won't let you sleep until you tell me why I woke up _the third time_ this week to you in the shower before dawn."

 _Not happening, not happening, not happening,_ Blaine prays. He curls up into his pillow, hoping Wes forgets about the matter, but after five counts he can still feel the council-member's eyes on his back.

"Blaine, you had a sex-ed class in sophomore year and you are _definitely_ not a late bloomer. There's no external reason for you to get as Catholic as my aunt Angelita when you listen to a song that's about as explicit as a _Victorian_ romance novel."

The tenor levers himself up with a half-moan of dismay; though he turns in Wes' direction to be polite, he still can't manage to make eye contact.

"If you felt _that_ awkward about sex, why did you let us make fun of you for a year and a half?" Wes sounds guilty this time, which does not help Blaine's sudden aversion to eye contact. "Please don't say 'I didn't want to bother you' unless it involves something that _would_ bother us."

"Well, it sort of made Kyle go crazy, but I'm not -"

 _"Oh, god."_ His mouth is razor-thin.

"He was overreacting!" Blaine insists, which does precious little to assure the other. "He - I just..." _Okay, Blaine, start at the beginning,_ he tells himself. "There was this guy before I transferred to Dalton, okay? Don't get mad," he pleads hastily, and Wes' mouth closes. "And we... we went out for a few months, and I -"

"Was it _Gap Dude?_ "

"It wasn't, and his name's _Jeremiah!_ " Blaine doesn't mean to sound so annoyed, but he does, and Wes looks simultaneously disappointed and guilty. "S-so, we went out for a few months and it was about half a year after I came out, so Dad wasn't... talking to me. And Lydia just flew to California, so I - wasn't feeling very... _Don't get mad,"_ he pleads.

The council-member swallows tightly and nods. "This story better have - _ninjas,_ and violence, and -"

"Sex?" He blurts out, mortifying both of them for a good ten seconds. His face contorts into a grin that would make a shark feel insecure, and he tries desperately to keep the laughs down. "'Cause it kind of does."

To his credit, Wes doesn't fly into a frothing rage. At least not loudly, because his eyes are as welcoming as black holes right now. Blaine hopes that he'll finally be left alone, but instead the other boy sighs. "You're with Kurt."

"Yes?"

"Now that you're with Kurt," Wes explains patiently, "you are irritatingly devoted, you jump him in the entirely literal sense, and you follow everything he says like a wibbly little Dachshund puppy. Kurt, who spent five months chasing _you_ and has no prior record of leaving puppies out in the cold."

"I don't -"

"No, Blaine - I'm not calling you a puppy." He rolls his eyes. "I'm _commenting_ on the fact that you fall so hard for someone, it's a wonder you're not a vegetable from all the brain damage." Blaine nods, and feels the smile carving itself on his face. "Given what you told me just now, your sudden and blatant discomfort with sex, and your refusal to be anything less than Prince Charming with Kurt, _what is that supposed to make me think?_ "

"Okay: I wasn't raped, harassed, or assaulted," Blaine tells him, just in case they aren't on the same page. "For the last two, not sexually - and _not_ by him, either! I just -" The words ram up against a lump in his throat. "I wasn't _thinking_ straight. I didn't have you guys to tell me if I was being stupid, I didn't have Kurt to be a totally awesome person, no matter what. I didn't have _anyone_ , really, so..."

Why does his chest suddenly feel like it's twisting itself in knots? But at the same time, he looks at the clock reading 3:33, and he feels a lot better knowing this only took fifteen horrible minutes.

Wes takes a few moments to digest everything, impassive and stonefaced, before he crosses over to Blaine's side. "You were being stupid," he says sharply, and gives him a hug.


	18. Drinn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the update taking so long! College has once more thrown me off schedule, but once I finish finals, I'll be free for Thanksgiving break. Also, anything past Season 2 will officially be AU.

_  
**The land grew leaner day by day as they traveled on, and the faces of the folk they met had grown bitter with the brown grass; but to the unicorn's eyes Molly was becoming a softer country, full of pools and caves, where old flowers came burning out of the ground.**   
_

_Once there was a rich man with three children. All of them had their virtues, but none so much as the youngest boy, who was handsome and well-mannered, with strange eyes of gold._

 _It happened that the man grew cold towards his son, and would hardly stand to see him. The boy put up with it, for he had been brought up well. His siblings thought that it was a hopeless effort, but they could not bring themselves to say so, for they remembered when their father had been a good man. "Perhaps he will forgo it, after enough time," they said to themselves._

 _And so the boy waited._

-  
"Greg?" Blaine creeps into the surveillance room, where the manager is discussing the gate's camera, which was knocked loose from a wayward raccoon. "Um, when you're done with that - can I tell you something?"

"Sure," he says, and puts Blaine's nervousness down to his usual 'I don't want to bother anyone, even if it's really important' mentality.

Twenty minutes later, he sits in the kitchen watching Blaine pace nervously between the chairs, his footsteps an erratic drumbeat. Greg's assumption that the youngest Anderson has waited till the very last minute to tell him important information means that he's prepared for Blaine's uncanny ability to make him feel guilty for things that he hasn't even said yet.

"Please don't get mad," he adds, and Greg nods carefully.

But he can't help sighing as well: "Blaine, one word of advice - if you don't want people to get mad, _don't ask them to not get mad._ That's a bit of a warning sign, you know..." He trails off as the tenor's pacing increases in speed. "Go ahead."

"Okay... You remember that I wouldn't talk to Kyle for a week? And you know the guy I dated last year, who stopped talking to me around the same time?"

Dear god, the air raid sirens are back. "Didn't Kyle threaten to burn him alive?" Greg asks with far more composure than he feels.

"Yeah," Blaine says with a cough, and he forces himself to stay still. "Um... so, I sort of..."

-  
 _One day the boy met a young man, and they were happy together. But the man's heart drifted one day; this would not be unusual of itself, knowing most young men. After a time, it was quite clear that his attentions had shifted, and that everyone knew but the rich man's son. The boy was sure that it was only a passing difficulty._

 _And so he waited._

-  
David rolls his eyes, and suppresses the urge to kill something. "So you let us make fun of you for _a year_ , without thinking that you should probably tell us _why_ you felt like that? I thought you were just _that_ uptight!"

"Yeah, well -" Blaine pokes at his half-finished plate of food, though David catches him before he can say it.

"Don't say it's some Asian thing about not bothering people. Wes is Asian, and _he_ doesn't act like that."

"Well, apparently my mom is really traditional... wait, you're not going to call me stupid or anything?" Blaine asks, relieved and very surprised.

"You went 'don't get mad' at least fifty times before you said something important," he tells the tenor with a groan. "Now you're asking why I'm _not_ yelling? God, this must be what Kurt feels like." But he grips Blaine's shoulder for a moment, shakes it like he's at a funeral.

-  
 _Some time later, the rich man's son came across another boy in great peril. He had a peerless singing voice, and eyes like the spring sky. "But I see no use in asking you," he said, "for I have done so with all I know, and none will aid me."_

 _"Stay here with me," said the rich man's son. "There is no place safer than this."_

 _Time passed, and the two became fast companions. The singer grew particularly fond of the rich man's son, though it seemed that the latter was blind to such feelings. In truth, the rich man's son had no idea his attentions could be seen that way, for such was his compassion that he treated everyone as he did the singer._

-  
"What the hell are you, Blaine, a _girl_?" Nick groans and puts his head in his hand. "Jeff!"

Both of them are startled at Nick yelling when they're right next to him, and the dancer erases an errant pencil mark from his homework. "What?"

"Blaine needs a hug. Go." Nick orders, and the other two look at him in confusion.

"Why don't you do it?" Jeff asks.

"Kurt isn't here, so you're the only one pretty enough to cancel out the _estrogen_ swimming around in Blaine's system," Nick explains. The other two gape at him, uncertain if they should be indignant.

"Are you high again?" Jeff shoves his pencil in his pocket to squint at Nick, searching for red eyes or the carefully concealed smell of pot, earning an unamused stare from the other student.

"Look, just give him a hug. I promise I won't light up in the dorm for two weeks," Nick offers, but the blond doesn't budge. "Or on campus."

"Or...?" Jeff asks, and the fellow Warbler grits his teeth.

" _Or_ without supervision, because we don't want another Bat-pool incident," Nick finally mutters under his breath.

"Done," Jeff concedes. He eyes Blaine for a moment before slinging an arm around the tenor's shoulders. "But that _was_ really stupid, man," he admits gingerly.

-  
"So you've told five people in the past week," Sarah remarks, and Blaine winces. "No, don't worry - that's _good_. But why?"

"Um..." He fiddles with the last button on his blazer, but the motion isn't as frantic as it used to be. "It just... It wasn't as bad as I thought it'd be. I mean, Wes was fed up and all, but still - I felt a lot better afterward."

"They didn't get too mad?" She asks wryly. Blaine shakes his head and smiles.

-  
 _ **The unicorn was there as a star is suddenly there, moving a little way ahead of them, a sail in the dark. Molly said, "If Lir is the hero, what is she?"**_

 _  
**"That's different. Haggard and Lir and Drinn and you and I - we are in a fairy tale, and must go where it goes. But she is real. She is real."**   
_

The disaster of junior prom is exactly what Blaine expected - both in the general "two guys as a couple aren't going to be received well" sense, and entirely beyond it, in the "Kurt got voted Prom Queen as a horrible, horrible joke" sense. They skip the after-party in favor of going to Kurt's house, where the countertenor sinks into the couch and takes off the crown. He drops it on the coffee table with a tinny _thunk._

"You okay?" Blaine asks, and winces. "Crap. You're probably not okay, but I meant to ask what _specifically_ isn't -"

"I know what you mean," Kurt cuts him off, tired but amused. "You have about five different ways of saying that, you know?"

"Yeah?"

Kurt scrubs at his face with one hand before sliding the other around Blaine's chest. "I'm using you as a pillow until further notice," he declares. "God, I can _feel_ the stress-induced acne coming on."

Blaine can feel Kurt's fingers digging into his jacket and he tries to ignore them. "Sure..."

"Crap! I forgot you don't _live_ here! Sorry!" Kurt pushes up and away from him, and Blaine is a bit bewildered at the suddenness. "God, this is what happens when I move my skincare hour up - you can go home if you want," Kurt goes on, although with regret. "I mean, I made you go to prom and all."

"No, I'm fine," Blaine assures. "Greg said the earliest he expects me back is midnight, anyway, so crashing here for a couple more hours is okay."

Kurt eyes him skeptically, but Blaine doesn't move. "You really don't want to go home?"

He tries to think of something less harsh than _no_ , but he ends up twisting his hands till his knuckles crack. "Not... really."

Blue eyes search the tenor's face, but can't find anything they're looking for. Finally Kurt sighs. "Okay, then."

They resume their former positions, one half-lying and the other sitting cross-legged to keep him from falling off the couch. Minutes go by, and Kurt relaxes - eyes sliding shut, face smoothing out into something like relief. Looking at him sends a slow-growing feeling through Blaine's chest: Warm and hurting both at once, like he's come in from the cold. But he's sure it's a good thing, because it feels like the shaking relief after an adrenalin rush.

He must have drifted off at some point, too - when he blinks awake, there's a crick in his neck and the clock reads 11:11 PM. Carole has just draped a blanket over them both, and she mouths a sheepish _sorry_ at him. Finn and Burt are talking in the kitchen, voices rising in what sounds like overprotective rage; Burt must have found out about the whole Prom Queen thing, because the crown is gone.

But it's a softer voice that nearly startles Blaine: "Carole, remind them I'm asleep."

"Burt, Finn!" Carole points to the couch; luckily, Blaine's still disoriented enough to look like he just woke up. He hears apologetic coughs and someone's (Finn's?) shuffled feet. "If you want to keep plotting revenge, that's fine - but go upstairs first."

"Crap - sorry for waking you up, Blaine!" Burt calls, his tone a prototype of Kurt's from before. He sighs and says something reluctant to Finn before they move upstairs, guilty but no less irate.

Kurt mistakes his tenseness for something else, and he shifts around to smile up at him. "Don't worry, they'll lose steam after another hour."

Blaine nods, and just like that, he's asleep again.

-  
 _The body next to him is heavy and silent, chest rising and falling in dreamless sleep._

 _He wonders about all the movies and anecdotes and stories - about that afterglow people have after sex, the feeling you can tell just by looking at them. He combs his mind for anything like it, but the only thing he feels right now is tired._

 _Maybe he's trying too hard? He has a reputation for being slow to the punch, after all..._

 _And so he waits._


	19. Nikos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait - I had finals and the holidays to take care of, but I'm done with finals now! Hopefully Winter Break means a faster update.

_  
**“You can find your people if you are brave. They passed down all the roads long ago, and the Red Bull ran close behind them and covered their footprints.”**   
_

When Blaine tells Kurt 'I love you,' he is surprised when Kurt hesitates - two long seconds of watching his eyes, startled into sea-green. Kurt swallows his coffee before saying it back, and even more startling is that Blaine... doesn't worry too much, actually. He feels his own eyebrows raise a twitch, like he's just seen something funny (and he kind of has, because Kurt isn't startled very often and Blaine expected something _a lot_ less adorable).

Then he feels the thirteen-year-old in him collapsing into ecstasy and screaming, _'I said I love you to my boyfriend and he said it back, akjdal;kogvhasasfd!'_

-  
"You said 'I love you' after he went to New York for _a week_?" Nick asks on the last day before summer, fondly irritated, and murmurs of resignment ripple through the others. "What, did you go into Kurt-withdrawal or something?" It's actually pretty funny, but after a moment, realization dawns on Nick's face; the room fills with most of the Warblers (barring Blaine) collapsing into snickers, some of them laughing hard enough to fall onto the floor.

"What was _that_ about?" Blaine asks when the laughter tapers off.

"Nothing," Thad says too quickly, "just something he said really early on."

Nick springs out of his chair. "So even when I'm _right_ , it's still just a joke from the resident stoner? What about Wes and his magical Asian gambling?!"

"Back in your seats or someone's getting tied there," Wes orders with a raised gavel. Everyone winces, and some need to brush off their blazers before they can sit down again.

-  
When Blaine floats around to Sarah's office with a smile on his face, ballads waltzing along in his head, it takes him a while to remember the last time he said that to someone. He stops in a hallway to brace himself for his smile and his feelings to go cold, but then they don't.

"Why would you expect that?" She asks when he tells her.

"With Kurt it just sort of slipped out, and... I wouldn't have let myself do that a year and a half ago." He remembers how careful it was: Carefully rehearsed, carefully inserted into casual conversation (in case he needed to pretend it wasn't as serious as it was). He remembers not quite being able to make eye contact, and not just because he was short. He remembers a complacent chuckle, and getting a one-armed hug.

She writes something down. "Why not?"

"I don't -" He remembers that she made him stop saying 'I don't know' unless he literally didn't have information about something, and he tries not to fidget. "It's always easier with Kurt than everyone else."

She looks at him. "Everyone?"

"Well, not _everyone_ ," he amends.

-  
 _"- okay?!" Wes shakes Blaine, and his hands get as frantic as his voice when the tenor doesn't respond._

 _"No, don't **shake** him!" David's hand pries Wes' fingers off. When he turns around to face the third man, his shadow covers Blaine like a shield. "You've been following him for weeks! How do you not know about his Napoleon complex?!"_

 _The man shifts in the white of the streetlights, guilty and surprised._

 _"Okay, screw that." David gets out his cell, but it's wrestled out of his hands. After a panicked scuffle on both sides, which David loses after something rips in his wrist, the blond pitches David’s phone somewhere. They hear the clunk when it hits another car, and the alarm starts blaring like a siren._

 _“Oh god, now **nobody’s** going to come help!” Wes laments._

-  
At home, Blaine wonders why everything is so much easier with Kurt. Is it because they were friends first? Has Kurt's natural theatricality subconsciously warned him that he will never be able to top that, or is Blaine trying to avoid too much disappointment, or is he just not that kind of person anymore -

-  
 _"This isn't a movie!" David shrieks, clutching his hand and feeling his cuff-links come loose. "He's not going to wake up and laugh it off!"_

 _But as Wes is just about to sprint for his own car, the man's voice - quiet, and far too clear all of a sudden - makes him freeze to the spot. "Don't."_

 _"We swear we won't say anything if the police show up," David pleads. "If they do, you just... you're homophobic or something. I really don't want Blaine to get brain damage, please -"_

 _But the blond isn't listening. He heads over to Blaine's open door, turns the ignition back on with a rumble; and in a moment the car's headlights come back on, leaving a violent green haze in Wes and David's eyes._

 _"Hell no!" David rises. "You're not abducting Blaine in his own goddamn -"_

 _The engine cuts him off with a warning growl. "You aren't in a position to argue," he calls out the window._

 _As they look at each other, they know they can just run - but they also know that he doesn't mean **them.** Blaine is lying on the ground, asking something about Kurt. "Why is it always easier with him?" he muses, and they can't tell if he's laughing or coughing after he speaks._

 _They aren't leaving him like that in front of his own car, and they aren't letting him get carted off who-knows-where alone. So they do the next best thing._

 _David and Wes hoist Blaine up between them, trying to keep his head and neck still. Wes lets him go gingerly while David sets Blaine down. He sits up without a problem, but David has to buckle him in. They shut the doors._

 _"What are you doing?” The blond twists incredulously._

 _“You don’t want us to talk, do you?” David retorts in a stubborn attempt at nonchalance. His face manages to look the part, but he can’t stop himself from keeping his good hand on Blaine just in case. “Then you’re taking all of us.”_

-  
Across the room, their hands frozen on the piano cover’s zippers, Thad and Trent gape at the TV screen as Blaine’s car winds through the parking lot. “We forgot about David’s cuff-links,” Thad finally says in awe.

Then they scramble for their cells: Thad dials 911 while Trent mass-texts the Warblers.

-  
 _ **Here is there, and high is low;  
All may be undone.  
What is true, no two men know -  
What is gone is gone.**_

Just when he gets home with emergency groceries for Carole, Kurt's phone starts vibrating from his bag. He twists around and just manages to get it before the fourth ring; a quick glance at the name reads a number he vaguely recognizes. "Hello?"

 _"Hi, Kurt - it's Greg. Is Blaine stopping by your house?"_

"No," he unlocks the door with a frown, clamping his phone between ear and shoulder. "Why?"

 _"It's been an hour since rehearsals would have let out, and he hasn't been answering his phone."_

"Huh. Did you call anyone else?" Kurt sets the grocery bag on the table and slings his bag over the chair’s back.

 _"I tried to call the Warblers in case rehearsal went on longer than usual,"_ Greg's voice carries a hint of ruefulness. _"But Thad’s phone is busy, Wes won’t answer either, and David’s phone is out of service."_

"Weird," Kurt muses.

 _"Either Blaine's phone ran out of power, or those three are doing something stupid to celebrate summer."_ The manager sighs.

"I’ll call you back if I hear from him," he assures Greg, putting the groceries away one-handed; vegetables, milk, and a pork shoulder. Then his phone starts beeping with a text. Kurt sighs before he clicks on it: “Speak of the devil, that might be Blaine. One minute, Greg?”

 _“No problem.”_

When Kurt reads the message, he feels his hands go limp.

 _BLAINE, WES, AND DAVID GOT KIDNAPPED. LOOK FOR BLAINE'S CAR. THAD CALLED POLICE. -Trent_

Another text, right on its heels, nearly makes him drop his phone: _KURT PLEASE DON’T KILL US._

He raises the shaky phone back to his ear. "Yeah... Greg?"

 _"Please tell me Blaine was apologizing so much that you couldn't get back for five minutes."_

"Um, no?" He can barely hear himself over the pounding in his ears. "According to the Warblers, they got kidnapped in Blaine's car and Thad's already called the police. S-so, I'm just... going to..." _Breathe,_ Kurt tells himself. _In and out. Use your diaphragm, not your chest._

 _"Kurt?"_ Greg is concerned, but he realizes something in the space between his words. _"Kurt, **don't do anything -"**_

But he's already out the door, heading for his car.

-  
Blaine wakes up _somewhere._ It's dark and the air is dusty enough to make him cough, but even that makes his head pound. The sudden lack of light doesn't help, and he fumbles in his pockets for his phone. It's not there; he must have left it in his bag. “Where am I?”

“Thank god, you can think again!” The sincerity in Wes’ voice is confusing and worrying.

"Wh -" Blaine gets up, or tries to, because David keeps him still.

"Okay, man, what's your name?" David asks, as if he's done it several times already.

"Blaine," he says, forehead creasing at the relief on their faces.

"Good. What's your boyfriend's name?"

"Kurt," he answers, before remembering to glare at the council-member. A dingy half-window to their left and a lone lightbulb above the staircase struggle to make things visible. They’re in someone's basement; it certainly isn't his. _But I **went** home!_ he thinks helplessly. "Why are you asking me stupid questions?"

"Because you hit your head and you've been babbling on and off for twenty-three minutes, which is just barely a Grade I concussion," David answers. "Seven more minutes and we'd have needed to call 911. Which we can't," he recalls with a sigh.

"And... _why_ did I hit my head?" Blaine ignores the tangent and squints sideways at them with difficulty. David lets him up, but there is a cautious silence that Wes has to break.

"You hit your head... because we got into a fight," he says.

"With who?" Another, longer silence. Blaine winces a bit at the pain in his temples; after a few moments of careful flexing, he doesn't feel hurt anywhere else. But Wes' lip is split and scabbed over, while David tries not to move one wrist. “Guys?”

"Okay, you know that dude who's been wandering around Dalton?" David asks. "Well, it - turns out..." he winces at something that isn't his hand, and forces himself to keep going. "It turns out, he's been trying to get to _you._ "

Wes and David take turns watching him and the door; when one's gaze strays to Blaine, the other scans the dusty staircase or listens for footsteps. Wes feels something buzzing in his pocket, and he takes his phone out to see a lengthy list of texts.

 _BLAINE, WES, AND DAVID GOT KIDNAPPED. LOOK FOR BLAINE’S CAR. THAD CALLED POLICE. -Trent_

 _KURT PLEASE DON'T KILL US. -Trent_

 _Trent and I are looking from the campus down to Willow. -Thad_

 _Me and Nick are looking from the park to Morris Ave -Jeff_

 _Time to rip a bastard's kneecaps out! -Nick_

 _My house over to Oak. -Martin_

 _My house to the bar. -Colin_

 _High Street to Winchester with Brandon. -Anthony_

 _Guys, Kurt just called me and I couldn't hear what he was saying. -Trent_

 _OH GOD IS HE CRYING? -Jeff_

 _Yes. And he's coming over. -Trent_

 _SHIT -Jeff_

 _OH GOD -Anthony_

 _FUCKFUCKFUCK -Nick_

 _HE'S GONNA KILL US -Martin_

Wes scrolls down past the other screaming texts, amused and rather touched, until the Warblers' texts go back to normal capitalization fifteen minutes later:

 _Thad, how do you know what happened? -Brandon_

 _David’s cuff-links. -Thad_

David is reading over his shoulder, squinting through the dim light, but the last text makes him look at his blazer in disbelief. He starts to laugh, hard and helpless, scaring the dust away.


	20. The Cat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know how this managed to consume nearly a year of my life, but I'm really glad it did. The epilogue I've been semi-mentioning in some chapter notes? Might turn out to be a proper sequel, also of indeterminate length. I should probably get a head start on that so it doesn't take a year to finish as well.

**_"Even when I wake, I cannot tell what is real, and what I am dreaming as I move and speak and eat my dinner. I remember what cannot have happened, and forget something that is happening to me now."_ **

Kurt is strapped into his Navigator. The keys are in the ignition, but the engine's off because he's still busy trying to get a handle on his emotions. "You're not supposed to drive when you're emotional," he reminds himself, teeth clenching. "Because that leads to _very bad things._ " Car crashes and injuries, and it's hard to look for your abducted boyfriend when you're in the ICU, and oh god what if Blaine got himself hurt? How long have those three been locked up? What if they got stabbed and dumped into an alley or -

He just finishes wrestling down the scenarios in his head when someone taps at the window. Finn and Carole are waiting outside, and Kurt rolls down the window.

"What's up, kid?" Carole asks, and Kurt feels a not-quite-pang in his chest because that's what his dad usually calls him. "You were talking really fast, but it had something to do with Blaine?"

He nods. "Yeah." His voice is incredibly high, but in the screechy fearful way instead of the awesome I-can-reach-the-high-F way. "I got a text from one of the Warblers that Blaine and a couple of his friends got kidnapped. They're - looking for them right now. With the police, and... everything." Something rattles, and he realizes that he's trying to feel his way to where the keys hang in the ignition. And failing. Miserably.

"Blaine got kidnapped?!" Finn demands, and opens the driver's door. "Holy shit, get out!"

"What?"

"You can't drive!" his stepbrother insists. "You'll start crying, like, _any_ second now, and then you'll hit someone by accident! Or you're gonna run over the guy who kidnapped them on purpose, and I am _not_ letting you get sent to jail. But I would totally testify that the dude deserved it," he adds.

"I just need a few -"

"Kurt, let him drive," Carole says, and damn it, Kurt can feel something spilling down his face now.

"Fine," he snaps, unbuckling his seatbelt and stomping around to the passenger's side. They both strap in, and for a moment Kurt's at a loss without the steering wheel to grip. Carole taps the passenger window, and Kurt rolls it down to receive a hug.

"Make sure your brother doesn't murder anyone," she tells Finn after he gets one of his own.

Kurt fumbles for his cell-phone and dials Trent's number. The phone rings once ( _pick up, pick up, pick up_ ) - twice ( _why is it taking so long_ ) - and when Finn pulls out into the street, the call's picked up.

 _"Hello?"_

 _"Who do I have to bludgeon to death?!"_ Kurt demands, his voice far into his upper range, and he can hear wincing shudders of pain from Finn and Trent both. His stepbrother gamely heads towards the freeway, and in hindsight Kurt wonders if he should have texted instead. Or waited a moment before talking.

 _"Okay,"_ Trent says nervously, _"whatever you said, the guys should be fine. Officer Clement said groups of kidnapped people have a much lower chance of getting hurt or -"_

 _"Trent, you don't actually say that!"_ Thad insists in the background.

 _"Crap, sorry!"_

"Yeah, whatever - Finn and I are coming," Kurt cuts in blearily.

 _"Um, great?"_ Trent asks, and Kurt can practically hear the nervous smile. _"Kurt, please don't kill us."_

He laughs in spite of himself. "That's ridiculous, Trent - _you're_ not the ones who kidnapped Blaine."

-  
Three minutes and fourteen seconds after Greg is hung up on, he shakes his head to get the dial tone out. Then he takes a few breaths, wincing as they catch in his ribs. "Right," he says. "All right, then. Blaine, Wes, and David got kidnapped - but the Andersons and Kahales are _swimming_ in money. It was bound to happen at some point. Soon Luke and Morris will each get a call from a voice-distorted person, ordering them to wire money somewhere or bring a briefcase or five to a certain spot. Then they'll all be home safe and sound. Aside from needing therapy."

 ** _More_** therapy, he recalls about Blaine with a groan. He wouldn't take Sarah's job for the world.

But he's not sure if he wants to wait that long, and he lasts about thirty seconds before falling off his chair when the phone rings again. He scrabbles back to his feet and grabs it on the second ring. "Hello?"

 _"You answered,"_ Blaine says in wonder, and more than slight confusion.

"Blaine!" He presses the speaker so the security cameras will record the call. "What happened? Kurt just said you got _kidnapped!_ "

But Blaine is talking already, and even without his faint and shaky breathing, Greg can barely make sense of what he's saying. _"- in a basement with Wes and David, and I... can't remember where I left my phone, so I'm using Wes' for a minute -"_

 _"Shit, not again!"_ comes David's voice. A flurry of bangs on a hard wooden door. _"Hey, Stalker Dude! This is why you call an AMBULANCE when someone hits their head! Blaine, give me the phone,"_ he says urgently, though not without patience.

And now Greg really wants the confusion back, because whatever sense he can make of this isn't good at all. "What happened to you?!"

 _"I don't know!"_ he apologizes. _"I - I thought I was home, and it turns out I'm here, and - and I don't know why I'm not, because I keep -"_

Someone's footsteps wind closer, and Greg hears Blaine's fingers tighten around the phone with a crackle of static.

 _"- but nobody will tell me!"_ The tenor finishes helplessly. _"Or maybe they did, they always tell me things, but I can't remember, so... Dad, please come get us. I don't get it."_

"Blaine?" Greg feels his chair scrape closer to the phone, like talking louder will cut through Blaine's bewilderment. Or at least keep Blaine from crying, because he's sounding teary and it's even harder to hear what he's saying. "Give the phone to Wes or David, _please_ -"

 _"- thinking to call earlier, and I thought, well, you don't call me anymore, and you haven't emailed me, or texted or said more than hi for the past two years, not ever, and no one will explain to me **why!"**_

 _"Not again,"_ Wes says in despair, and he must be the one trying to pry the phone out of Blaine's fingers. His voice firms when he speaks into the phone, but it's a brittle strength. _"We got kidnapped by some guy who's been stalking Blaine, and currently we're in his basement. Blaine has a concussion, as I assume you know from his incoherent rambling, and -"_

"Wes, it's Greg." Greg leans back in his chair.

 _"Oh god."_ Wes moans. _"I **knew** this was the stupidest coincidence ever."_

"Well, maybe we can... not mention it and hope he doesn't remember?" His hopes aren't too high about this plan.

 _"Yeah, but..."_ Rustling; Blaine's hitching breaths get fainter. He's either farther away, or he's trying to quiet down. _"Right. The Warblers are helping the police look for us right now, so could you join one of the million search parties combing the city and come get Blaine at the police station?"_

"I can do that," Greg promises, though it's after a quiet moment. And impulsively, he asks: "Do you know where Kurt is, by the way? He told me what happened, and then he ran off and hung up."

 _"He's probably coming to kill us for letting his boyfriend get kidnapped."_

He feels a strained laugh bubble out of his mouth. There is a knock on the door, and he checks the camera instinctively to make sure it's still pointing at him, even though it makes just about no difference for the audio. "Someone's at the door, Wes, but the security cams recorded what you and Blaine said."

 _"Okay."_

Wes hangs up and the knocking repeats, louder and more insistent. Greg opens the door to see two police officers. "Can I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Officer Warren from the police station. Are you Blaine Anderson's father?"

He's very strongly tempted to say yes, considering recent events. "No, but I just got a call saying he's in trouble."

"Well, he is," the man admits. "So, we're just here to get information and take a look at his things, just in case something gives us a lead."

-  
 _ **She stroked the cat's thin throat, and it closed its eyes. "I thought he lived here."**_

 _**The prince shook his head. "My father hates cats. He says says that there is no such thing as a cat - it is just a shape that all manner of imps, hobs, and devilkins put on, to gain easy entrance into the homes of men. He would kill it if he knew you had it here."** _

After the search ends, in which nothing comes up that they haven't concluded already, the officers take Greg's tape and copy some pictures of Blaine before heading back to the station. "If you want, we can drop you off with one of the search teams," Warren offers, but Greg shakes his head.

"Call my cell when you find them, and I'll head to the police station." He hunts through the desk for a notepad, scrawls his number down, and rips the sheet out for them. "I have to make some calls first."

"Where _is_ his family, by the way?" Warren asks. "You'd think they'd be here once the alert got out."

"Working," he tells them wearily. "Or on the West Coast."

The first copy is scanned - from the Warbler's Spring Break party, a rare instance where Blaine is in (relative) public without hair-gel. He's gotten tangled in a pair of headphones, and looks rather puzzled on how he got there; Trent still doesn't know who took his camera to take that picture, where the headset came from, or how Blaine managed to keep his shirt so clean.

When the police thank him for his help, apologize again about Blaine, and return to their car, Greg makes sure they're out of the driveway before fishing his own keys from his pocket.

Another look around at the gate, just in case, and he speeds off with a shriek of the tires.

-  
Dalton Academy is in a minor uproar; only the management's there, but they are notably distressed and security is outright panicking - though it overshadows the fact that they fenced off the crime scene very quickly. Greg heads to a guard who isn't shrieking his head off, and asks him where the dean is.

"His office - third floor," he tells him. "Who the hell abducts kids on the last day of school?" He wonders, and his hand goes to his pocket - where his wallet must be, with pictures of his own family.

"Someone who doesn't really care that it's the last day of school," Greg points out, though gently.

In his office, the dean is suffering through a panicking parent's phone call, and he's relieved when Greg pushes the door open. "- and really, sir, stop badgering me about something you shouldn't worry about. Most of the students were already safe at home, including _your_ son. ...Because I can hear him yelling about how you're embarrassing him." He sighs and rests his head on his hand. "We already have the police on it, and they are _quite_ qualified to do their jobs. Also, someone just came into my office - I'd prefer not to keep him waiting."

Greg's smile is crooked when the dean drops the phone back on its receiver. "Having a rough patch, Tom?"


	21. The Skull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter may contain triggers. Please read with caution.

_**"When the wine drinks itself," he said, "when the skull speaks, when the clock strikes the right time - only then will you find the tunnel that leads to the Red Bull's lair." He tucked his paws under his chest and added, "There's a trick to it, of course."** _

When the dean hears Greg stepping into his office, his forehead thuds emphatically onto his desk. Several times. "No. No, no, no no _no_. Why is everything going wrong _now_? Three of my students just got kidnapped!"

"Actually, that's what I'm here for," Greg tells him. "By some stroke of fate, one of them is Blaine Anderson. I've worked for his family since he was nine."

"Do you have a lead on them?" He stands up with a smile, but it falls when Greg shakes his head. "Do you know who did it?" Another reluctant shake, with Greg's lips pressed razor-thin. "Do you have a _plan_?" He demands irritably, though Greg hardly budges from his spot.

"I have a full tank of gas and Blaine called me 'dad' ten minutes ago," Greg admits.

"Oh, dear god." But the dean grabs his briefcase and turns the speaker on. "Everyone, just stay calm and let the police handle things. I have yet another emergency to attend to."

-  
Nick jerks when they pass a certain car, resting placidly in a driveway. _"Dude!"_

"What?" Jeff brakes, and the police car nearly hits them.

"Jeff, pull up!" He unsnaps his seatbelt and gets his phone out. "I just saw Blaine's car!"

They are already a few buildings down, but there are no parking spots until they reach the corner. Jeff parks and strains to see the street sign. "We're at Bay Street and Northridge Avenue."

"Okay - Bay and Northridge." He types in the street names and mass-texts the other Warblers as the police car behind them turns on its sirens.

-  
The lights have been out for a while now. David tries to get his hands out of the ropes tying him to the armrests, but he jerks the chair by accident and white-hot spasms shoot through his bad wrist. _"Gnnnnnnngh."_ He twists around in useless pain, and he's pretty sure that dying-cat noise is him. Wes is unusually quiet, even for himself, but he knots himself up so much that the chair starts tilting back with a creak of the wood.

Something falls from Wes' pocket onto the floor. David squints; it looks like a pen. "Dude, careful. If your chair lands on that and tips over, we're going to have two concussed people instead of one."

"On what?" Wes creaks out dismally.

"Your pen." David sighs - it figures they're so stressed out that they're forgetting what's on them. "Don't worry, man, it's not important right -"

"I don't _have_ a pen on me." Wes looks at it and rolls his eyes. "That's my X-acto knife."

"Why do you have an _X-acto knife_?"

"Opening letters and packages, art class." Wes tries to shrug. "Especially when I need to open those obnoxious plastic packages... from..." He stops, and they find themselves grinning through the darkness.

-  
Something in Blaine's stomach caves in. Wes and David always help him out, they always do, but why are they not here? He can't remember how long it's been because if he thinks too much he will _puke_ , but he can't remember why the man is looking for him.

Because he's shaking hard now, and his head hurts. Part of the reason he ducks into the other space is because he has no more wall to brace against, and glass bottles clank against his knees. He sits there for a while, curling into the corner.

_Just be quiet,_ he tells himself with shuddering breaths. _Just be quiet._

-  
Wes is sawing through his ropes with a clumsy vengeance - pushing the X-Acto knife through his right-side bonds has only made the ropes tighter, so there are pins and needles stabbing his arm with every twist. Then red light floods the room through the half-open window, and he feels the tip of the razor punch through his skin in his surprise. "Ow."

"Thank god!" David strains towards the window. "Guys? Guys! We're in here!"

_"David?"_ Jeff crouches to look through the window, and he waves someone else over. Sirens start blaring.

Voices; the front or back door is knocked on twice before it crashes open, then the basement door is kicked down. A police officer comes down to untie them as three more search the house, but David nearly falls because something in his legs seizes up. _"Owowowowowow -"_

"You okay?" The policewoman asks.

"Fine," David says. He braces his good arm on the chair and tries again; this time he manages to stay up, even with his tentative balance. "Wes?"

He's shifting his weight and still up, which is more than David can do - he feels if he tries that, he's going to fall again. "I'm good."

Jeff and Nick come down the stairs, much to the officer's chagrin. "We told you to stay outside!"

"Fuck that, we're looking for Blaine!" Nick tells her, but when he starts up the stairs, he's blocked.

"The others are already on it," she points out.

"Could you tell them Blaine has a concussion and he'll freak out when people start busting down doors?" David adds frantically.

"He's probably just dazed and stressed out," The female officer begins, but David shakes his head.

"No, he hit his head and started rambling about shit!" He says, which simultaneously relieves and concerns her. "And when he came to after twenty-three minutes, he didn't know where he was!"

"We then spent fifteen _more_ minutes explaining that the past few hours had only taken place in his head." Wes sighs and flexes his wrists, but winces. "He was lucid for about five minutes, but when he called his dad for help, he ended up crying and asking why Mr. Anderson was such a jerk."

_"Finally!"_ Nick exclaims.

"While no doubt cathartic, it wasn't very useful for getting help." He takes a few steps, using the wall for support, and collapses onto the stairs. David's given up on walking - he feels like he's on a very painful boat when he tries - and has sat back in his chair to wait until his circulation gets back to normal. Jeff and Nick are concerned, but the officer looks at them strangely.

"How long have you guys been tied up?"

"Not sure," David answers, "but before Stalker Dude took Wes' phone, it was around six-thirty. Blaine freaked out and ran when we got tied up."

"But he can't have gotten far," Wes assures them. He is trying to chafe his wrists, but his hands can't stop shaking. "He's probably hiding in a room, like a scared little..." The other two Warblers look at Wes and David, with the uncomfortable shifting that means they don't want to say something. "What?"

"Guys, it's nearly _eight._ " Jeff tells them, and the officer's radio screeches in accord.

_"The house is empty. Over."_

-  
"Blaine?" The voice is higher and softer, and he wonders why he's not flinching at it. He should remember it, he knows he should, so he watches the long shadow until its owner appears. "Oh my god, _Blaine!"_

"Kurt?" Blaine rasps. And he doesn't know why, but something in him relaxes when the blue eyes light up.

"Finn! I found him!" Kurt waves someone over. "This is the best coincidence _ever_ -"

But the wrong person steps inside, the tall blond who was looking first, and Blaine feels his eyes open so much that they hurt. The blond man says something; it makes Kurt mad because he moves at him, but Blaine is up and moving.

"Stop - _stop!_ " He fumbles to keep him still. "Wes and David did that, they moved at him and it made him mad, and now I don't -"

"Blaine, what - are - you - _talking_ about?" Kurt tries to break free without unbalancing him. "Let go!"

"- left in the dark place and they couldn't get out, a-and I just -"

"What did you do to him?!" The countertenor demands.

"I didn't do anything," the man protests, "he's just panicking!"

"Oh, that's a _relief!_ " Kurt retorts, still struggling. "He was missing for four hours, but everything's fine because he's just _panicking!_ "

This is bad, _this is bad._ They have to stop, he needs them to stop being loud, but he can't make his mouth match up with his thoughts and the sounds that come out are slurring and confused. Wes and David still aren't here, and he doesn't know what question he's answering but _not you, too -_

_NOT YOU, TOO -_

-  
"Okay... okay." Wes' voice is strained, and his hands are shaking harder. He struggles to pull himself up. "Okay, so. W-we lost track of time, and it's been two hours since - since Blaine _ran off in a concussion-induced panic. _"__

"That boy's stupid when he _isn't_ brain-damaged!" David sprints to the stairs somehow, but his determination is cut short when he trips on the first one. "Ow! We have to find him before he wanders into traffic or impales himself or - shit, he's gonna die!" He grips his shin desperately. "He's gonna leave Kurt alone and heartbroken because he's gonna die and it's _our_ fault!"

"You two aren't going anywhere but the squad car," the officer tells them firmly. She takes her radio out. "Have the search teams keep looking; the boys are _really_ stressed out, so I'm dropping them off at the station. Over."

_"Roger that. Anything else we should know? Over."_

"Third victim has a head injury and he isn't thinking normally. Tell the others to look anywhere a person could hide. Over."


	22. King Haggard

-  
 _ **She said quietly to the king, "My lord, in all your castle, in all your realm, in all the kingdoms that the Red Bull may bring you, there is only one thing that I desire - and you have just told me that he is not yours to give or to keep."**_

Two hours, eighteen minutes, and two seconds into their search for the missing students, Greg's phone rings. For once he's glad that the dean pretty much forced him to take the passenger's seat, because he picks it up instantly in the hope that it's Blaine. "Hello?"

 _"Greg!"_ It's Luke Anderson, who sounds impressively betrayed. _"I got a call five minutes ago that Blaine's been missing for **hours**! Why the hell didn't you call me?!"_

"Such _language_ , sir," Greg remarks, and then feels sorry for some reason. "But seriously, I thought he was just in rehearsal until -"

 _"You know what I mean,"_ he cuts Greg off. _"Why didn't you call me when you found out something was wrong?"_

For a moment he thinks of saying that he had the same knee-jerk reaction Kurt must have had: _What happened, why are you sitting here, what if he's anywhere by now, is he hurt or scared or confused?_ (Blaine is all three, which makes everything so much worse.) He doesn't hear any of these questions in Luke's voice, despite the man's vague urgency.

_"Greg, answer me."_

"I didn't call you because I was looking for Blaine," Greg says flatly, and there is a thread of surprise in Luke's voice that grates on his nerves.

_"Why? It's not like you have to -"_

"Of course I don't _have to!_ " Greg snaps, free hand tensing on the armrest. "But you're not winning the Father of the Year award, are you?"

 _"When did this turn into a parenting discussion?"_ Luke demands.

"It was always a _parenting discussion!_ " By now he doesn't care if he gets fired or not, because Luke is dense and composed and unnervingly like his youngest boy. "Your son's been missing for hours, and your first thought is to call me and _throw a fit_ that you didn't find out earlier? _Wonderful_ show of paternal instincts!"

It is a long, dangerous moment before Luke asks, _"So, what now?"_ Greg knows it's a rhetorical question, but he laughs and answers anyway.

"You tell me, _sir._ " He stretches the word out like taffy. "What would you do after your son goes missing?" He doesn't wait to hear the answer, or if he's lost his job, or if Luke miraculously decided to be Blaine's dad again.

Fifty-three minutes later, his phone rings again. "Yes?"

 _"Hey, Greg?"_ It's David's voice, tired and suspiciously muffled. _"We're at the police station."_

"Oh, thank god - is Blaine okay?" He taps Tom's shoulder and is about to tell him to head over there, but David's next words make him stop.

 _"I don't know,"_ he says, and Greg can hear sirens wailing from afar. _"We got tied up, and Blaine freaked and ran upstairs. We thought he was just - hiding, but then we found out he wasn't in the house anymore, so the guys and the police are still looking."_

He groans, shakes his head at the question on Tom's face, and fights the urge to smash his head through the window. _Of course it won't be that easy,_ he thinks. "All right, I'll head over to the station so we can work something out. I need to give something to the police, anyway."

-  
"I'm sorry," David tells him at the station, and his voice cracks under the pressure. He and Wes are flexing their hands now and then, and David seems at the end of his rope. "It was dark, so we lost track of time, and... and we should've -"

"No, David," he cuts him off, "it's not your fault. You did perfectly fine. Just stay here so you don't get -"

"We're not the problem!" David blurts out. "It's not us! He didn't just go, 'Hey, I'll kidnap those guys over there,' the only one he wanted was _Blaine!_ And he took us because we wouldn't -"

"Wait." Greg motions for Tom to come over. "What do you mean by 'he just wanted Blaine?'"

"Oh lord, it was _him._ " Tom says, to a frantic nod from Wes.

"What?!" Greg doesn't know who to listen to first, so he just grabs the tape recorder from his pocket and presses Play. "Okay, David: Tell me why you three got kidnapped."

"A while back there was this guy hanging around campus and it looked like he was following Blaine so I told a counselor." The story starts coming like water through a broken dam.

"Why did it look like he was following Blaine?"

"Because he'd only show up when Blaine was there and everyone who hung out with Blaine said they saw him, too."

"And if you all have known about it for this long, why did _Blaine_ never mention it?" He feels like he knows the answer, and David shakes his head.

"Because Blaine's _stupid!_ " David finishes helplessly. "If he thinks platonic friends hang around singing duets and going on dates and dropping everything the minute he thinks they're in trouble, there's _no fucking way_ he'll care if someone's following him around! And - s-so - he thought we were just worrying about nothing, like we always do." David realizes what he said and his lips thin. "I didn't -"

"I know," Greg tries to smile as he turns the recorder off. "He is, though."

-  
 _There once was a sprite who was hated by most humans, and so he only mingled with those he trusted. One day he happened upon a secret from his longtime enemy, and he left for fear that he might die._

_But he could not hide his gift for music, and with such a strange and beautiful voice, he was appealed to join a troupe of musicians. Among them was a prince with golden eyes, who was so gentle and well-mannered that they grew to be fast companions._

_One day the prince was taken captive, with two companions. The news had hardly passed among the troupe before the sprite appeared, mad with rage. "I will not rest till I find them," he said, "and their captor lies torn asunder upon the ground."_

_His companions knew the Folk's promises were true, and though incensed at their friends' plight, they did not wish to go so far as slaying someone._

-  
Wes and David are waiting for their parents to pick them up, and Wes wonders without thinking: “God, I hope Marcus is okay.”

“Isn’t your brother Rick?” David asks.

“Marcus is his second name. We use it in emergencies,” Wes fibs, but David just looks at him.

“If you’re bi, you’re also cheating on Lacey.”

“I am not _cheating_ on her,” he insists. “And I’m not bisexual.”

“So who’s Marcus?”

“Marcus - is...” Wes realizes he’s starting to tap his foot and stifles it, but David realizes the answer.

"Man, are you talking about your _gavel?_ When did you _name_ it?" 

“I always called him Marcus,” Wes says sourly, but he’s just a little relieved. “Just not when people could hear.”

“Does Marcus _live with you_?” David teases.

Wes rolls his eyes, but he feels his face start to heat up. “Shut up.”

“I bet you roleplay,” he goes on. “You totally have a kink where you play the sadist judge who people have to -”

“Our friends are missing!" Wes reminds him loudly, his face a telling shade of red.

 _"Dude."_ He slumps in his chair at the reminder. "Not cool!"

"Okay, since _that's_ over with..." Wes takes out his phone and dials a number. “Let’s go to Dalton.”

"But we have to find Kurt and Blaine before -"

"I know," Wes shoots him a dirty look as the phone rings. "Mom’s going to be _so_ mad."

-  
 _The hell is calling at ten-thirty on a weekday?_ Farhad wonders, answering his ringing cell with as much speed as possible, considering he just woke up. "Hello?"

 _"Hey there, Tyke,"_ the voice greets him calmly, despite a hint of strain.

Oh, crap, it’s Jerry. Why is everything going wrong? "What's up?"

 _"I need your help,"_ he starts, and Farhad shakes his head out of habit.

"Dude," and he stretches the kink out of his neck, "Spike’s making Mom _so_ paranoid right now - she’d never let me leave the house again if I went out."

Jerry’s phone beeps as someone else tries to call, and he sighs. _“This isn’t about Spike - this is about Blaine Anderson.”_

"The Warbler? Didn’t he and his friends get kidnapped?" He feels around for his laptop, somewhere on his desk, and drags it over his knees. When it's switched on, he presses a nonsense string of keys that opens a map of Westerville, gleaming like a photo negative. "And just in case you’re a really good mimic or being held at gunpoint: Say the magic words."

 _"A griffin has two hearts,"_ Jerry says.

"Okay, we’re fine." He presses Enter, and blinking white dots appear on the screen. “Which one’s our guy?”

_“Blaine should be somewhere around the North side, but... look at whoever isn’t moving predictably. In the alleys, or wandering without a pattern?”_

Farhad’s eyes rove across the map until he notices the seizure-inducing trail that one of the lone dots are making - or not. It’s just circling back around the same spot, like a drunk boomerang. “This one guy’s sort of dragging in a circle near the middle of a block,” he suggests.

_“Hopefully that’s Blaine. Is he alone?”_

“I wouldn’t know, man - unless you managed to bug the dude who kidnapped him?” He’s only half-joking, but Jerry’s angry silence probably means no. “Fuck, I’m sorry! It’s just, I’ve been awake for about ten minutes and my stupidity filter’s still not up! Please stop looking at me like that,” he adds desperately.

_“You can’t **see** me.”_

“I can feel it through the phone!”

-  
Finn has called his mother tentatively, wincing after she picks up. The trunk of Kurt’s Navigator thuds against the side of his head, and he rubs it with difficulty. “Ow.”

_“Finn! Are you and Kurt okay?”_

“Mostly?” He pauses for a while, and then gets it over with: “Okay, Kurt’s in trouble, but he isn’t hurt - well, I don’t know, but -”

 _“WHAT?!”_ Her volume makes him wince again. _“You said you were going to look for Blaine!”_

“We _were_ looking for Blaine and we found him after half an hour, but the stalker dude was following him -”

 _“Kidnapper,”_ Carole corrects out of habit, but sighs. _“So you went to look for Kurt’s kidnapped boyfriend, without asking where to start -”_

“Shit.”

_“- or if the kidnapper has a **weapon** -”_

“Shit,” Finn squirms helplessly, though it doesn’t help how cramped his legs feel.

 _“- or bringing a **bat** or something?”_ Carole finishes, but it’s more worried than angry at this point. _“So what happened to Kurt and Blaine?”_

“I don’t know. I showed up when Kurt and the dude started yelling, and - Blaine must have hit his head or something, ‘cause he sounded _crazy_ ,” he admits. “Then things moved really, really fast and I lost track of them.” He waits a moment and then adds, “Plus Kurt’s not answering my calls.” He really hopes she won’t ask any more questions, but she does:

_“Why haven’t you gone after them yet?”_

“Because -” He checks his phone’s battery (full) and clears his throat. “Crap, Mom, my battery’s low -”

_“Finn.”_

“Because I got locked in the trunk and I can’t use the keys from inside.” Finn braces for more yelling, but Carole just sighs as her head hits the table.

 _“Just st... just wait for us, okay sweetie? I’ll get a locksmith and - no, hang on,”_ she says. _“Burt!”_

“Mom, don’t call _Burt!_ ” Finn pleads. “He’s gonna have another heart attack -”

_“I’m not paying for a locksmith when my husband has a spare key.”_

_“Why aren’t you paying for a locksmith?”_ comes Burt’s voice.

_“Finn got locked in Kurt’s car trunk.”_

_“So if Finn’s in the trunk, what happened to **Kurt**?!”_

_“Shit.”_ The quarterback loses his last remnant of nerve and hangs up.


	23. Hagsgate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update, but these past few months have been busy.

_**“Whose child it was, we never knew. I found it myself, as I was crossing the marketplace one winter’s night. It was lying on a butcher’s block, not crying, although there was snow, but warm and chuckling under a comforter of stray cats. They were all purring together, and the sound was heavy with knowledge.”**_  
  
The first time Roger Dunham met Blaine was not when he came to Dalton, too quiet and so polite it made his teeth itch - although that is probably what Blaine himself remembers.  
  
One day the dean took a detour by Westerville High because the road was getting resurfaced, and he saw a boy waiting for no one in the shade of a grasping willow. He knows when a kid's been left in the cold, mistakenly or otherwise - they try not to move and they check the time too much. He rolls the window down and pretends to mistake him for his own son.  
  
“I thought I told you to take the - oh, sorry!”  
  
“No problem,” the boy says. He wavers between walking away or staying here. “S-so... you can go now if you want. I’m fine, I'll just -” He jerks when another car turns the corner, tracks it with his eyes until it passes them by. "I'll just take the bus," he finishes, and gets his wallet out for the fare.  
  
Roger knows it isn't the end of the world if someone gets left waiting, but it's nearly four-thirty and this doesn't feel like an accident. He steers the car to the curb and puts it in park. "No, I can stay here a few minutes. You never know what'll happen when someone's alone like this."  
  
The kid is about to protest, but something in his face accepts the offer and he nods. "Th... thanks."  
  
And so they wait.  
  
-  
 ** _He turned and beamed at the folk of Hagsgate, hunched in their finery. “I would like to leave you with this last thought,” he told them. “The most professional curse ever snarled or croaked or thundered can have no effect on a pure heart.”  
_**  
David and Wes are back at Dalton for Wes’ car, with Mrs. Kahale's shrieks ringing in the latter's head. “So, she’s _not_ mad at you for getting kidnapped -”  
  
“Because I was being smart and I didn't want to die,” Wes tells him unhelpfully. "Don't tell her we forced the guy to take us," he adds, to a reassuring nod.  
  
“But now she’s mad you’re going to look for Blaine and/or Stalker Dude again?”  
  
“Because I'm being stupid and I should leave it to the police."  
  
 _"Oh,"_ he sympathizes. "So, what did you say to her?"  
  
"I told her I was eighteen and she couldn't tell me what to do anymore."  
  
"Did it make her stop yelling?"  
  
"No," Wes admits, with a resigned chuckle. He fishes for his keys and unlocks the car. "I hung up after she started the 'no matter how old you are, you're still my kid' rant."  
  
-  
Some time after Finn's phone battery really does run out, he spends a while trying not to think about Kurt or Blaine or what his parents are going to yell at him about. Really, how was he supposed to know that the dude was right behind them? _But crap, Mom's going to remind me about the whole "you went after a stalker without getting a bat first" thing!_ he remembers.  
  
So he tries to figure out a way to keep his mom from going crazy, or Burt from having another heart attack, but then the trunk opens and his eyes sting at the streetlight, wan as it is. _"Gaaaaaah."_  
  
Burt hauls him out, and nearly falls over since Finn's legs have long since fallen asleep. "You all right, Finn -"  
  
"I'm sorry!" He says reflexively. "Kurt let me drive but then he saw Blaine and he nearly jumped out of the car -"  
  
"Finn, we're not -"  
  
"- went 'Dude, I'm not going to drive you both to the hospital' -"  
  
 _"Finn! We're not mad at you!"_  
  
"- like two minutes later, that stalker dude came over and Blaine just - what?" Finn takes a breath to calm down, and realizes that his parents are trying very hard to keep straight faces.  
  
"We're not mad at you, sweetie," Carole repeats, and hands him his phone charger. "Here - I figure your phone's battery really did run out."  
  
"Thanks, Mom, but why'd you bring it?"  
  
"We didn't go all the way to Westerville just to get you out of the trunk," Burt tells him, already heading back to his car. "We're helping you look for them."  
  
"Awesome!" So Finn heads back to the Navigator and plugs his phone in.


	24. The Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry early Christmas, everyone! I finished Nanowrimo for the first time in three years, so I decided to take a break by writing something that has nothing to do with my novel at all. What better than to continue a fanfiction that I really like? I'd already finished half of the chapter, but the other half finally managed to come out properly over the past two days.
> 
> Many thanks for everyone who's been reading, whether you were waiting for two years or just found it last week. I'm surprised that so many people are still following it.

**_Molly dreamed that sheep leered at them from treetops, and that cold cows stepped on their feet and shoved them off the withering path. But the light of the unicorn sailed on ahead, and Molly followed it, awake or asleep._**  
  
"Okay." Wes' hands are starting to freeze to the steering wheel as they wind through the parking lot at half their normal speed. Thanks to the police crew, everything is crowded and they can't cut across the parking spaces like they usually do. "Okay. Any luck?"  
  
David wonders if Wes is starting to realize just how stupid they're being, because after they find Blaine and everyone's settled down from their "Thank god you're alive" high, they are going to be in _so. Much. Trouble._ But he still takes Wes' phone out--thank god the police let them keep it, in case Blaine calls--and checks the texts.  
  
Thad’s moved onto Westline Drive with no progress. Wes’ phone is buzzing again, and he makes a point of not answering it (while chanting something like “please don’t be Mom or Dad”). Then David glances gingerly at the screen to find that _Kurt is calling, holy fuck._  
  
He nearly drops it as words stumble out: “Kurt! You probably saw the news already, but please don't get mad or cry because we are totally on this--”  
  
 _“David?”_ Kurt's voice is strangled and just on the edge of broken. David hasn’t heard that voice since Blaine first came to Dalton. _“I think I need help.”_  
  
Amidst the _ohgodohgodohgod_ ringing in his head, David asks, “Where are you?”  


* * *

  
The spot that Farhad points Greg and the dean towards has the remnants of an inn. He remembers it went out of business when Blaine was five--no doubt it was named something fanciful, like a medieval inn, but the sign’s vandalism and wear has left only the white shape of a rearing horse...  
  
No, it's a unicorn. He can see the spiraling tint of a horn on its head.  
  
So they set their phones on vibrate, and the dean turns the headlights off before they pull into the driveway. They steal over the worn-down pavement until a faint but sudden piano chord ringing out makes Greg clamp a hand over his own mouth to keep from making a noise. He takes a breath and asks carefully, "The hell?" But the dean only shrugs, as lost as he is.  
  
 _ **“- sweetest downfall -”**_  
  
"Wait," Greg says, just under the force of his breath. "Wait--that's Blaine's phone."  
  
"Or _someone's_ modern technology, at least," Roger agrees. "This must have closed down years ago."  
  
"Nearly twelve."  
  
 _ **"Beneath the sheets of paper lies my truth."**_  
  
Tom and Jerry move towards the sound, as quiet as their namesakes. Unanswered, the phone has repeated its ringtone: **_"You are my sweetest downfall..."_**  


* * *

  
"So... where are you?" David asks Kurt, switching to speaker.  
  
 _"I don't know - it's a hotel, but the sign's literally washed out. Blaine just took off into a random place, and the only way he'd let me use my phone was because I was calling for help."_  
  
Wes jolts as the radio’s news report switches back to music, and the piano chord makes a little spot in David’s chest hurt because it’s Regina Spektor's "Samson."  
  
 _ **“You are my sweetest downfall...”**_  
  
 _Regina reminds me of Blaine,_ he thinks. _All tiny and happy, whenever they're not singing **songs** that make people **feel** things._ He tries to change the channel, but winces as his wrist flares up. "Ow."  
  
 _ **"Beneath the sheets of paper -"**_  
  
 _"Nonono, Blaine!"_ Kurt hisses desperately. _"Blaine, give it... Wait, why'd you put it under the bed?"_  
  
 _"You need a break,"_ Blaine tells him, like a five-year-old would. _"So you don't lose your voice."_  
  
 _"I don't even know."_ Kurt takes a breath, and David hears his hand scraping around to get it back.  
  
 _Damn it, Blaine's one of the sad **and** batshit-weird concussion victims!_ David sighs and jerks again when his wrist moves too much. "Kurt?" He asks, but it takes another moment for Kurt to find the phone again. "Kurt, you there?"  
  
 _"David? Ugh, Blaine's not functioning **at all.** "_  
  
"Yeah, he fell." David scrubs at his temple. "Don't worry. Either stay where you are or keep away from the stalker dude, whichever's safer. And whatever ideas Blaine gets into his broken-ass head, do whatever keeps him quiet and out of trouble."  
  
 _"So just keep doing what I'm doing?"_  
  
"Yes," he says, with a hint of a laugh.  
  
 _"Okay then,"_ Kurt says.  
  
"Don't worry, Kurt," Wes calls over from the driver's seat. "We're coming. There's not a lot of old hotels in Westerville."  
  
 _ **"You are my sweetest downfall..."**_  


* * *

  
Kurt eyes the worn-out desk in front of the door with less enthusiasm than he'd like. 'Keep Blaine out of trouble and try to stay where you are.' That was pretty easy, since Blaine is ridiculously fast and strong for someone who's just had a concussion - he'd picked a room and hauled the desk against the door long after they'd lost Mr. Tall, Blonde, and Kidnapper. Maybe the fear combined with hitting his head is giving Blaine a really long adrenalin rush?  
  
"I wanted -" And speak of the devil, Blaine is talking again. "I... thought..."  
  
Kurt sighs, but it's from weariness and not annoyance. "What's wrong, Blaine?"  
  
"I don't want to wake up again," Blaine struggles to make sense of it himself, which is really not helping Kurt with the issue of understanding things.  
  
"What do you mean?" He switches his phone to vibrate.  
  
"I thought I was with you, but then I was in a basement with Wes and David," Blaine tries to explain. "And now I'm with you, but I don't want to find out I'm actually in a basement again. At least not without one of you guys. Was I with the guys before?"  
  
"Yes, Blaine. You three got kidnapped by the blond guy," he says with another sigh. He sinks onto the bed and wonders if he should look out the window - it's dark, but he doesn't know whether the blond guy managed to follow them inside or not. "Remember, try to stay quiet."  
  
Blaine nods, then swallows and curls up next to Kurt. "Am I awake?"  
  
"It's okay," he says. "You're awake."


	25. The Oak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Almost End Of Semester! I was going to update this a LOT sooner until a bunch of scheduling hassles cropped up, but at least it hasn't been nearly two years.

_**"No man with the power to summon Robin Hood - indeed, to create him - can be bound for long. A word, a wish, and this tree must be an acorn on a branch again, this rope be green in a marsh." But he knew before he called on it that whatever had visited him for a moment was gone again, leaving only an ache where it had been. He felt like an abandoned chrysalis.** _

There are a lot of abandoned hotels in Westerville.

Or it feels that way, when you're a teenager searching for two of your missing friends. And when one of said friends is temporarily batshit-crazy, due to a concussion. The first thing David does after Kurt hangs up is to text the Warblers: _Guys, check for abandoned hotels or something like it. Kurt called me and said they were in a rundown place._

 _Do you know where stalker dude is?_ \- Thad.

"Fuck." David forgot to ask where Stalker Dude actually was, thanks to Blaine shoving Kurt's phone under the bed halfway through the call.

 _BASTARD'S GONNA DIE, THAT'S WHERE HE IS_ \- Nick.

 _What?_ -Martin.

 _THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN_ -Fred.

 _what._ -Wes. Another few moments, and a second text from Wes reads: _Guys, don't call my phone. We need to distinguish between my parents and you. TEXT ONLY._

* * *

 

"So keep texting with updates and..." Jeff switches his headlights off and parks by a warehouse; he and Nick get at least a couple of doors in before something doesn't quite sound right. "Wait, why would Wes' parents be calling him? He and David should have gotten home by--"

The realization hits the two (and at least half of the other Warblers) at roughly the same time.

"FUCK."

\---

Wes' phone vibrates from a call as they pull into the driveway of an old hotel, with a faded splotch of white on the sign. He checks it, sees 'Home,' and shudders as David pries the door open. Seven more vibrations later, it changes to 'missed call' (the eighth one, to be exact) and he feels safe enough to text the Warblers again. _Guys, don't call my phone. We need to distinguish between my parents and you. TEXT ONLY._

 _FUCK_ -Nick.

 _YOU ARE DUMBASSES_ \- Thad.

 _YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE AT HOME!_ -Jeff.

 _GO. HOME. NOW._ -Brandon.

 _IDIOTS_ \- Martin.

 _WHO THE HELL GOES MISSING AFTER THEY JUST GOT FOUND_ \- Martin (again).

"Wait, your parents _didn't_ say you could look for Blaine?" David demands, though it's a toss-up between throttling Wes with his good hand and staying quiet in case Blaine, Kurt, and/or Stalker Dude is here. "Is that why they keep calling us?!"

"Imayhaveleftoutacoupleofdetails," Wes mumbles, and David groans. "Look; I told you that I told _her_ that I was an adult and she couldn't tell me what to do anymore. But I _didn't_ tell you why exactly she was yelling at me, because I knew you would conclude that she was just--"

David makes a noise that's somewhere between a dying cat and an angry parakeet as he motions to an empty room. (If he's going to yell at Wes, he might as well make sure that Crazy Stalker Dude can't hear them.) "You couldn't have told us your plan? We ignore our parents all the fucking time!"

"I didn't want you to get in whatever legal trouble this might be," Wes apologizes. "Now that the guys all mass-texted us to go home about forty minutes in, it's proof that they had no idea of my plans. And you definitely wouldn't lie about mistakenly thinking--"

He groans (again) and squeezes his temples. "THEY ARE GOING TO _KILL US._ "

"If we find Kurt and Blaine, we have about three days of gratitude that we're alive _before_ they kill us," Wes offers. David thunks his head against the wall.

 

* * *

 

Greg's phone vibrates, and it's Wes' home phone. "Hello?"

 _"Greg, have you seen Wes?"_ Mr. Kahale is frightfully calm. _"He's not answering his phone."_  
  
"Not since I left him and David at the station. He had to drive David home because of his wrist, though. Maybe ten or fifteen more minutes?"

 _"Well, according to Marsha, David isn't home yet either,"_ Mr. Kahale informs him.

 _"Shit."_ His hand is now very firmly applied to his face. Although he can't tell whether he's trying to hold off his sudden migraine, or trying to stem the flood of teenaged stupidity that just hit him three seconds ago. "I bet they're looking for him."

 

* * *

 

Finn and Carole have managed a compromise between trying to make Burt stay in the car and letting him run around looking for Kurt and Blaine. The first option is useless since he's a mechanic - he'd probably hotwire the car and smash in through a wall. Even if the place is abandoned, a messed-up car wouldn't help with getting everyone back home. The second choice is somewhat less stupid - they could always use more people to help - but his heart issues are already stressing Carole out.

Fifteen minutes into the warehouse, Carole asks for the third time: "So, Burt, you're sure you aren't too--"  
  
"Honey, it would take way more than heart problems to stop me from looking for Kurt."

Finn is convinced (he was on the receiving end of Burt defending Kurt, after all), but not really at the same time. After all, Burt is pretty big, but there's the way he moves now that he didn't before the heart attack - not shaky or anything, just really careful. Like he's on a sprained ankle that's almost healed, but not all the way yet.

Still, he follows.

* * *

 

Once Greg finally manages to find the source of the ringtone, it sparks a bit of chaos.

Mostly on the other end of the line, because Lydia is going nuts. _"Blaine, where the hell are you?! Dad called to tell me you got--"_

 

"Lydia, it's Greg!" He whispers frantically. Yeah, he's not going to let another Anderson kid mistake him for someone else. "Okay, we've got the police and at least half the Warblers looking for him -"

 _"You're letting the Warblers look for Blaine?"_ Lydia groans, and something thwacks nearby; she's most likely thrown something or whacked her head on something. _"You realize that a group of high-strung teenagers are going to murder whoever abducted their idiot-savant, right? Oh god, are Wes and David looking for him?!"_

"We... don't know where they are," Greg technically-not-lies. "Okay Lydia, just stay calm and don't--"

"Jerry," Tom warns before stuffing them both through a nearby door.

"Lydia, just stay calm and keep watching for news." He hangs up and squints at the dean. "What was that?"

They listen for the approaching noise. It's most likely a group of two or three, and not more than five. They don't sound like the Warblers; one of them is a woman, and the other is too old.

So Greg looks through the keyhole (and this hotel must have _really_ gunned for the old-fashioned feel), he spies an indecently tall boy and opens the door. "Oh, it's Kurt's family. Finn? _Finn!_ " He is careful to make a lot of noise before lunging out, but the woman still needs to stifle her shriek.

"Greg?" Burt asks. "How did you figure out where to look?"

"Uh... We got a trace on Blaine's phone." There, that's vague enough. "How did _you_ figure out where to look?"

"Finn got locked in Kurt's trunk," Burt tells them. "He said Blaine sounded hurt, so they can't have gone far."

"Blaine has at least a mild concussion, going on how he sounded when he called me," Greg replies. "Okay, time to figure out--"

"Wait, who are you again?" Burt asks Tom.

"The dean," he replies. "I'm also one of Greg's old work partners who happens to owe him a favor. Small world, isn't it?"

"Oh, that's a _lot_ easier than I thought," Burt says with relief. "My high school stuff just breaks even with what Kurt gets into. I was expecting some sort of undercover spy work at this rate."

"I'd be expecting that with Blaine as well," Greg admits. "Okay, so I found Blaine's phone - " (which has 14 missed calls and about 30 texts, not counting Greg answering Lydia's last call) "- and that means he should be at least in this area. We already have groups, so -"

The dean corrals them back into the room before they continue.

This time it is a lone figure, calling too carefully for them to distinguish the words.

 _Do you know him?_ Everyone asks each other quietly, but that in itself isn't good.


	26. The Red Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to Harry Freaking Potter. I'm watching "A Very Potter Senior Year" on Youtube, which is hilarious and terrifying because this feels like Deathly Hallows all over again. I need to fish around for more chapter titles and quotes, but hopefully you'll get faster updates than I've been having.
> 
> This was a really hard chapter to write for some reason. Probably because of Blaine's concussion and the violence.

* * *

 

_**Haggard's castle was on fire, tossing wildly in a sudden cold wind. Molly said aloud, "But it has to be the sea, it's supposed to be." She thought she could see a window, as far away as it was, and a gray face.** _

_**Then the Red Bull came.** _

The roaring in Blaine’s head keeps distracting him - it sounds like the wind? But it can't be, he can't feel it on his skin. Wind doesn't make you feel murky and tired, either.

"Where's the desk?"

"Blaine, the desk is at the door. Remem - ugh, of course you don't." Kurt wipes at his face, pale against the dark of the bed, and tugs him away. "Here's the door. And the desk," he repeats.

Blaine reaches a hand out to the wall, skims it along to the knob: _Door._ Then he taps at the jutting surface with his knuckles: _Desk._ But that stupid wind starts again as Kurt’s mouth moves - it presses at his face like a mask, purple-green and stinging. "I can't hear you," he pleads. "I can't - there’s too much -"

"The window's closed, Blaine," Kurt tells him. Something clicks in his face, and he presses a hand to Blaine's forehead. "Are you having a _migraine?_ You keep saying it's clamping your face up."

"I think?" He clenches his hands, shakes them out vaguely. "It makes my head hurt. Not all the time, but a lot."

"Okay, wind equals migraine... Don't do that." Kurt takes his hands and pulls him over to the bed. "Okay, just - just stay quiet." He checks his phone when it buzzes; it's about half-charged, which is good. He really hopes it doesn't take five or six hours for someone to find them, though.

"Kurt, we're in a hotel and we just saw Greg's car," Wes informs him. "This is most likely where you are."

"Yes!" Kurt pumps a fist, but the celebration is cut short when Blaine tries to get up and starts heaving instead. "Oh, no! Blaine, are you - do you need any -"

"S'back," he says between fits, helpless. "The wind? And it's red."

"Why can't you be nauseous and coherent?" Kurt asks. "Come back here, you'll feel better if you're lying down. Wes, Blaine almost threw up - any help?"

"He might need a doctor," Wes deadpans.

"No problem." Kurt laughs, if a bit queasily.

It seems there’s no sound in the whole of the hotel, and Blaine manages to keep his stomach in check. Kurt is the only thing that stays still, so he pillows against his shoulder.

“Do... do you want to hear a story?” Is the only thing Kurt can think to say.

“Sure.” Blaine presses his ear to the join between neck and shoulder, listens to the fluttering pulse.

“I... Um... Once upon a time there was a fairy--” he cuts himself off with a laugh, but there’s no choice but to keep going. “And the fairy liked to pretend that he could do everything on his own, but he had a lot of friends for someone who supposedly didn’t need them. Then one day a minstrel came along and sang a really awesome song, and he realized he needed at least one person out of the two billion currently living.”

“I need a lot of people,” Blaine muses drearily. “Because I’m stupid.” There’s a thickness in his voice that has nothing to do with his concussion.

“You’re not stupid.” Kurt doesn’t know if Blaine’s hair-gel is still an invisible helmet, but he can at least kiss him on the temple. “Is this about the Warblers? They call Nick a stoner because he smokes weed a couple times a week. That’s not exactly--”

“They mean it with me,” he says. “They watch out for me and they get mad when someone upsets me, and I don’t get why I can’t figure things out sooner.”

“Well, you’re kind of sheltered,” Kurt says to him. “It’s not your fault.” But despite his assurances, hot things trail down Kurt’s neck. He clears his throat. “Okay, Blaine, time for the rest of the -”

But there’s no more time, because the door shivers as someone tries to open it. Blaine goes into a panic: “Oh god oh god - don’t wake me up, please, I don’t want you to leave!” He bounds to the desk.

“No, Blaine! _I’m not leaving!_ ” Kurt scrambles, but the desk screeches forward with Blaine’s efforts. “You’re awake, you're awake, don’t move the desk!”

“But if I don’t, then he’s going to get mad and then he’ll make you leave! When he’s here, they always _leave!_ ” Blaine wrenches at the desk. It booms away from the opening door, leaving splinters and cuts on his hands.

There is the blond man, shocked and a little bit frightened as he spots Blaine trembling in the doorway.

“Don’t,” Blaine pleads. “Please. Don’t make him leave. I promise I’ll stop running, just - _please! I don’t want to go to sleep!”_

“Ugh, screw this!” Kurt squeezes past Blaine and shoves over the desk. “This is all _your fault!_ If you hadn’t tried to kidnap him, he wouldn’t have hit his head -”

“No. It’s _yours._ ”

“What are you talking -” And Kurt really should have thought things through before yelling at a potentially-violent kidnapper, because now he’s on the floor and he can’t breathe. The tipped-over desk is blocking them both - the blond guy can’t get too close, but Kurt’s arm is also trapped against it and he can only keep the man’s hands from closing too fast.

Blaine’s yelling now, terrified wordless mush, and he struggles to help Kurt with his shaking, bloody hands.

* * *

  
_**With an old, gay, terrible cry of ruin, the unicorn reared out of her hiding place. Her hoofs came slashing down like a rain of razors, her mane raged, and on her forehead she wore a plume of lightning. The three assassins dropped their daggers and hid their faces, and even Molly Grue and Schmendrick cowered before her.** _

A torrent of noise happens when Wes and David reach the staircase: A screeching thud from down the hall as something falls over, loud voices, and then the clatter and thump of someone hitting the floor. Blaine - it has to be Blaine - starts screaming or crying, or both. His voice fills the air with a sharp, high loss.

“Come on!” Wes goes for the noise, but he bumps into someone who shrieks. “Mrs. Hummel?” He squints.

“Wes?”

 _“David!”_ Greg snaps. “You two should be _home!”_

“My fault!” Wes snakes past him towards the noise. “Talk later!”

“Damn it!” But Greg agrees, seeing as everyone follows.

In the growing dark, there are two shapes over a third one, nearly hidden behind a desk. Blaine is a mess - his eyes and hair are wild, and he’s shrilling in despair as his hands shake red on the kidnapper’s shoulders. _“Please - PLEASE! I won’t run anymore, just stop hurting him! Don't make me sleep, I don’t want to go to sleep -”_

Someone chokes out something of his own - it’s Kurt on the floor, David realizes.

_Kurt’s on the floor._

_KURT IS ON THE FLOOR GETTING SUFFOCATED BY BLAINE’S STALKER. OH GOD, THEY NEED TO -_

But a whiteness shoves up and slams the man back against the wall.

“YOU. MOTHER. FUCKER.” Kurt stares up into his face, ice-eyes over a bruising neck. The man is stunned from the impact, and he slides crooked onto the floor as Kurt punches. He is far past screaming, and he’d look almost calm if it weren’t for the tenseness and the furious glimmers down his face.

“L-like the dream again.” Blaine’s face is white and wet. “Does that mean I’m sleeping?! Kurt?!”

“Blaine!” Greg pulls him back as Kurt throws more punches and kicks. “Blaine, are you -”

Someone’s called the police - wailing red lights seep through the walls. Wes and David drag Kurt off while the dean holds the blond man down, and a howl springs from Kurt’s mouth.

“Oh god, I fell asleep and he’s turned human and he’s gonna get blood on him!” Blaine struggles, but it’s in vain. “I don’t want him to leave, Greg, please don’t wake me up -”

“Shh. _Shh._ ” Greg keeps him still and tries to understand what the hell he’s talking about. Obviously Blaine doesn’t want Kurt to get hurt again, but the 'human' and 'waking-up' parts make no sense. “He’ll be fine, Blaine. Don’t worry.”

“Kurt?” Blaine worms out from Greg’s arm and stumbles over to his boyfriend. “Kurt, are you human?” He reaches with his shaky hands, but he spots his scratches and withdraws like he’s been burned. “I... I don’t want to get blood on you. If you’re not.”

Kurt takes a few shuddering breaths with his father as support, then glances at his own hands: Raw and bruising, like his neck. He peels Burt’s arms off and moves forward, but Blaine presses against the wall. “Blaine, I’m human. And you’re awake.”

He nods, breathing shallow, and takes a moment to process things. “I’m awake.”

“Yes.” Kurt cups his face and slides over carefully, so Blaine can wrap his arms around him.

“Dude. Are you okay?” David steps forward. The paramedics have come in now that the kidnapper is taken to the police car, and they hover near the group of injured boys carefully.

“You’re back.” Blaine finally realizes that David and Wes are there. He turns to look at them, eyes so wide they must hurt, and the blood on Kurt's hand smears on his face. “You’re back?! I thought you were dead! I woke up again and you guys weren't there -”

David’s tempted to argue, but he remembers that Blaine had a concussion and he thought Kurt wasn’t human for a minute. Instead he shakes his head and laughs, although it’s fragile. “Don't worry, Blaine. We took our fuck-all time to find you, but we're alive.”

“Until our parents get to us,” Wes reminds David from the corner of his mouth, and gets elbowed in response.

"He keeps getting headaches," Kurt is telling the paramedics. "He kept asking me a lot of the same questions, and he got nauseous at least once. I don't even know what the human thing is."

"Okay, so somewhere around a Grade II concussion," says the woman, but when she and her partner start to load Blaine onto the stretcher, he flails and tries to pull Kurt along.

"We'll get to the hospital in the car," Kurt promises. "Are you taking him to Westerville General?" He asks one of the paramedics, and she shakes her head.

"Blue Sun, actually. They're better for head injuries and blunt trauma. And an eighteen-year-old can ride in the cab with us," she says. "An untreated concussion sucks, but it's not _technically_ life-threatening."

"I'll go with you," Wes says to Blaine. He crumbles into overwhelmed sobs - in the state he's in, they're surprised he hasn't snapped until now - but he finally lets the paramedics take him out.


	27. The Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was reading stuff on Season 3-4 (mostly on TV Tropes) and... things are getting really weird. Especially with Klaine. RIB, why did you make Blaine so stupid? Kurt flirt-texting with Cameron was interesting, but then comes Blaine’s severely out-of-character cheating and then the breakup, AND THEN comes his attention-whoring marriage proposal or whatever that was.
> 
> I haven’t even watched anything yet, but this is a severe misuse of Darren Criss.
> 
> I’ll just... hang around in fandom. My Blaine is a broken little Disney Prince whose friends are a show-choir composed of a foul-mouthed stoner, a guy who wins every bet he makes, a guy who writes every-fucking-thing down, and a bunch of other guys who make fun of him but also have a severe need to protect him from the cold, non-Disney world.

 

* * *

 

_**“It is that long since our sorrow fell, since Haggard built his castle by the sea.” “When the witch built it, I think.” Schmendrick wagged a finger at him. “Credit where it’s due, after all.” “Ah, you know that story,” Drinn said. “Then you must also know that Haggard refused to pay the witch when her task was completed.”** _

 

So Blaine was already crying when he got loaded onto the stretcher, but losing sight of Kurt makes things that much worse. “No, no - if Kurt leaves, then the other guy will come back and I don’t want to go to sleep!” He struggles against the straps with frantic sobs.

“Hey,” the man warns him gently. “Don’t worry, everyone’s fine. Okay? You’re awake.”

The paramedics go through the rest of their checking once he’s calmed down: His eyes respond slowly (they rate him a 3 or 4), his arms and legs can move reliably (5), and his responses to questions are, well, _decipherable_ (3). He gets an 11-12, which means a moderate head injury.

It still takes a few minutes before they actually head out - Blaine needs convincing before he lets Wes go into the passenger seat. The woman heads to the driver’s seat while the man checks Blaine’s vital signs. “And do you know how he was acting after he fell?” She asks Wes, pen ready.

“When he came to, he thought he’d been hanging out with Kurt for the past few hours,” Wes says with a cough. “He didn’t remember the fight or falling down, and definitely not the stalker--”

“Kidnapper?”

“Stalker,” he says, to her dismay.

“Oh boy.” She starts the engine. “This is complicated.” 

* * *

The urgent-care center is going to check up on Kurt tomorrow morning. Since he can talk at all (but it kind of hurts when he does), there’s probably no breaks or internal fractures.

“You got off pretty well for a strangulation victim,” the nurse Jameela says to him and Burt. “No broken collarbone, no neck fractures, and no eye-bleeding. Granted, that’s just what we can spot right away -”

“No eye _what_ -ing?!” Kurt asks.

“Oh, a lot of times when you get strangled, the blood vessels in your eyes get blocked up and then -”

Doctor Marsden rescues them by steering the nurse out. “ _Please_ remember what we said about too much information, Budur.”

“Jameela.”

“Ugh, wrong twin!” She sighs and checks the report after waving the nurse out. “Looks like there isn’t too much wrong for now, but I really recommend a full examination in your normal hospital tomorrow. There’s a lot of internal stuff that might be going on, and we’d just like to be safe.”

“So how much is this going to cost?” Burt asks. “Three hundred for tonight is doable, but it’s the rest I’m worried about. I’m not too sure where getting choked out by a kidnapper falls under Kurt’s insurance.”

“...Do you have any heart problems, sir?” Dr. Marsden asks.

“I’ll get Finn,” Burt says with a groan.

Once Finn is at the door and Dr. Marsden whispers something to him, he hedges back inside. “Uh, Burt? She said if we do all the tests at Blue Sun or another ER, we’ll get four digits in the bill, but if we sort of double back between here and our normal hospital, we can knock it down to almost three digits.”

“There’s still the driving,” Burt muses, then sighs. “I’ll just ask if he can stay at someone’s house on appointment days.” 

* * *

 

The Blue Sun Hospital staff is nice, since they’re stuck in the waiting room. Blaine gets a MRI set up, while David's wrist is checked. After a few minutes, both he and Kurt come back to the waiting room: David’s arm is splinted and in a sling, and they both have ice-packs and their hands wrapped up from the fighting injuries.

Then there’s a few minutes of horror when the Warblers, Wes’ parents, and David’s parents arrive in a wave of angry-but-relieved people.

“Who told you Blaine was at Blue Sun?!” David asks as they back up against the wall.

 _“I did,”_ Greg sings, parading his phone at them. Wes and David thus get mobbed by their parents. “Ow - ow! Dad, my wrist!” David hunches.

Wes’ mother is crying and his dad is yelling at him. He wishes he was more hurt than a split lip and some scrapes, because then he’d get a buffer zone like David. Oh well, at least they aren't yelling _more_ at him...

Before the Warblers can descend on them, police sirens catch everyone’s attention and presently, Stalker Dude is escorted inside by an officer. Most are uneasily quiet as he passes to the next room, but the Warblers are... _less_ so.

“THE HELL IS _THIS BASTARD_ DOING HERE?!” Nick demands. Jeff grabs him when he tries to go after the guy, but it’s not much help since the rest of the Warblers are following suit.

“YOU!”

“Why isn’t he in jail?!”

_“We will end you!”_

“Boys, we can’t just throw him in jail,” another officer explains, though he’s somewhat amused. “Like it or not, we have to wait until _everyone’s_ mostly healed up, and then he gets a trial.”

“Is there _any_ good reason to kidnap three high-schoolers?!” Thad asks.

“We all fucking know that he’s guilty!” Nick lunges against Jeff in vain. “Giving him a trial is fucktarded!”

“Nick, that’s not a _word!_ ” Jeff’s still holding him in place, but he’s clearly given up on Nick calming down.

In the redirection of anger, Wes manages to worm out of his parents’ grips to Room 14F.

“Wes, you traitor!” David calls. 

* * *

 

After Blaine’s MRI is finished, Wes sits by him, watching people walk by or drop in with charts. Blaine’s managed to calm down after his wreck in the ambulance, but he looks washed-out and fragile in the light.

His doctor has dark hair, blue eyes, and barely looks in his thirties if that. “Hello, Blaine.” He sits down in the rolling chair by the computer, coming closer in stages. “I’m Simon Tam, and I’m your doctor.”

Wes feels better about him since he said Blaine’s name without looking at the chart. Unfortunately when Dr. Tam gets about four feet away, Blaine’s fingers dig into Wes’ sleeve. _“Blaine,”_ he hisses. “Please let go.”

“Sorry.” His voice is as small as a puppy while his fingers loosen.

Dr. Tam scoots back and checks the chart. “So you hit your head a few minutes before your kidnapper drove off with you all. You don’t have any major injuries or internal damage so far, but the police have been looking for you since approximately -” He takes another look. “Five-thirty PM?! It’s a quarter past midnight!”

“He locked us in his basement and we managed to call Greg around five, but then Blaine panicked and ran off,” Wes says. “The police got me and David at almost eight, and somewhere around then, Blaine and Kurt hid in an old hotel. We finally found him when the stalker dude was choking Kurt, and Blaine was trying to -”

“That’s _way_ too much stress for him!” The doctor’s eyes are huge in disbelief.

“Indeed,” Wes admits. “Kurt can tell you more about how Blaine was acting, though.”

“No... no problem.” At a loss, Dr. Tam takes out a pen and moves it around in front of Blaine’s eyes - they track it, but slowly. “Eyes aren’t too dilated, but there’s delayed response to movement...” He writes.

Wes’ phone buzzes.

 _YOU IDIOT_ -Fred.

 _YOU’RE NOT HURT SO WE WON’T FEEL BAD YELLING AT YOU_ \- Anthony.

 _Dumbass_ \- Jeff.

 _FUCKTARD!_ \- Nick.

 _Your parents are by your car! Do not stop for anything!_ \- David.

“Am I awake?” Blaine asks.

“Yes,” they both answer.

Wes puts his phone on silent. “Why does Blaine keep asking that?”

“He can’t remember well,” Simon explains. Greg knocks on the open door before coming in. “Lots of concussion victims aren’t all there, so maybe he thinks he’s dreaming. But he might be trying to say something entirely different, so we’ll just wait until he’s back to normal.”

“Do you know if this is a long-term thing?” Greg ventures.

“Well, since there’s no internal or nerve damage that we’ve seen yet, he should be back to normal with about two or three weeks of rest. Then we can follow up on him. Blaine, can you move forward a little?” He checks in Blaine’s ears. “No ear damage, and...” A small, quiet exhale as Dr. Tam inspects both eyes. “Yep, that’s just from crying. I suppose the only good thing is that the school year’s coming down, so he won’t miss anything important.”

“It was the last day for our school, actually,” Wes admits. “We go to Dalton.”

“Oh, that explains the suits.” He finishes his writing and turns to Greg. “Are you Blaine’s father?”

“No, but -” He jerks when his phone buzzes. There’s a text from Blaine’s mother: _Kyle and Luke are here. We’ll be at Blue Sun in half an hour._ “But his family’s coming soon.”

“Do you know some of his medical information?”

“No medications, chronic illnesses, or allergies. He’s been in the choir for a year and they practice once a week after school, so he’s got some dancing under his belt. He also boxes twice a week since five or six months ago.”

“Is that why Blaine’s so _heavy_?!” Wes demands. “We had to drag him to the counselor earlier this year, and he was _very much_ against it!”

“Oh, I _knew_ he couldn’t have gone to therapy on his own!”

Simon marks a few rows of checks down the page as they argue, though he lets a laugh slip out. “I’d prefer if you stuck to one person at a time, please,” he remarks after finishing. “So why would he go to a counselor?”

“Just... teenager problems,” Greg replies after a pause. “Relationship and family issues, mostly.”

Kurt steps inside. “If I’m not supposed to be here, I’m sorry,” he tells them, “but I told Blaine I’d be at the hospital.” He steps closer. Blaine watches him, and doesn’t draw back.

“Kurt,” he says. “Are you real?”

“Yes,” Kurt replies with a smile. “And I’m alive, and I’m human. Just covering all my bases,” he remarks to the air, and he sits in the chair with a tiny, shattered laugh.

Blaine reaches out and lays a hand on the collar of bruises around Kurt’s neck, but Blaine is the one flinching on contact. “When did that happen?” he hazards. “I remember _what_ happened, I saw it, but... I-I don’t remember when. I keep _losing_ things.”

“That happened about an hour ago,” Kurt tells him, stock-still.

“Can you stay with me?” Blaine asks suddenly. “Not - it doesn’t have to be you, but - I’d like it. Or at least someone I know? Wes?”

“We can’t.” Kurt is shaking, and his eyes are gray with regret. “I’m sorry, Blaine, we can’t stay too long. Visitor hours are over in half an hour.”

“But if I sleep - I don’t want him to come back,” Blaine pleads. “I went to sleep and he was -”

“Shh,” Simon starts. “You’re fine. He’s not coming back. And if you need someone here, you can ask me.”

* * *

Around the time Greg, Kurt, and Wes are done arguing-slash-discussing things that at least one of them didn’t know about him, Blaine’s parents and brother arrive.

“Please tell me I’m not fired, sir,” Greg remarks, to a quick shake of the head.

“You found Blaine. That’s more important than a few off-the-cuff remarks,” Luke says.

“When can we take him home?” Kyle asks.

“About two or three days, or whenever he stays lucid most of the time,” Simon answers. “Shouldn’t be more than a week.”

The Anderson parents sweep Wes off to the side, making a show of worry. His mother is crying, and Luke says fatherly things with all the right tones of voice, but even if it’s genuine, it’s very shortsighted: They don’t ask Simon if he has Blaine’s medical history, or what to do for treatment, or how much it costs.

So after giving them a few minutes, the doctor clears his throat and starts the medical babble. “I’m sorry, everyone, but visiting hours are over soon. Blaine needs some sleep before we can do a full check on him - we did some basic testing, but he’s just about stable right now and there’s a lot of internal problems we need to check for.” He checks the chart again, more to keep from eye contact than to read it. “Mia should be at the front desk - she’ll make sure Blaine’s records are up to date.”

The medical babble works: Blaine’s parents leave sheepishly. Kyle and Kurt give him quick hugs, while Greg pats Blaine’s shoulder.

“See you tomorrow, little hapa,” Wes calls.

Simon wheels around in the chair. He’s glad for the silence, but it makes his teeth itch.

“I don’t want to sleep,” Blaine says, and Simon knows better than to ask what he means. “And I don’t - I thought Wes and David were dead. I tried to talk to him so he wouldn’t hurt Kurt, but... but it doesn’t -” He’s getting too upset, and he wrings at his temples. “He was looking for me! And he said - he wasn’t _trying_ to kidnap me or anything, he just... he wanted... me. Me? Does that make sense?”

Simon isn’t a psychologist, but he knows when the vibes are too creepy for a garden-variety kidnapper. _He’s seventeen!_ The doctor despairs. “Blaine, did he do anything to you that we don’t already know? It doesn’t matter if it makes sense, just try to -”

“After?” Blaine asks back, and wavers at the look on Simon’s face. “I... I don’t remember.”

“Right. Concussion.” Simon pinches the bridge of his nose. “Blaine, I need to call someone.”

* * *

 

A black man feels around the bedside table for his cell phone when it rings. “BAU Office, Derek Morgan speaking,” he recites.

“Hello Agent Morgan, this is Dr. Simon Tam. I’m calling from the Blue Sun Hospital in Westerville, Ohio,” he says. “One of our patients got checked into the ER after being kidnapped for half a day. He’s not making sense right now because of a concussion, but what I heard from him and his friends so far is... _not reassuring._ There are lots of gaps in his memory and he's terrified of going to sleep in case his kidnapper comes back.”

“Have you tested him for assault yet?” Morgan asks.

“We’d prefer to wait till he makes enough sense to consent to testing,” Simon admits. “But his kidnapper threatened to run him over at least once, he injured one of the patient’s friends intentionally, and he tried to strangle another friend when -”

“Thank you for calling, Dr. Tam. We’ll be there as soon as possible.” Morgan stretches with a groan.

“I’m sorry for waking you up at one AM,” Simon realizes. “Things are kind of hectic.”

“It’s two here,” he corrects. “But don’t worry, Dr. Tam, we’re good.” He stretches again after hanging up, and drops back to sleep.


	28. Robin Hood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I give you Psychic River, Stoned Nick, and Jareth the Goblin King from Labyrinth. Not sure if he’s going to be the Goblin King outside of Nick’s hallucinations, but either way's good with me.

* * *

_**Over their voices, Captain Cully screamed, “Fools, fools and children! It was a lie, like all magic! There is no such person as Robin Hood!” But the outlaws, wild with loss, went crashing into the woods after the shining archers, stumbling over logs, falling through thorn bushes, wailing hungrily as they ran.** _

River Tam walks where the little blue soldiers roam the halls. They talk to each other through the walls, liquid thoughts of _Blaineblaineblaineblaineblaine,_ so he must be a new arrival.

And in the room, there he is: A soft dark thing surrounded by bits of glass. No one can hear what he’s trying to say, because the glass covers the room floor and spills into the halls.

“You can see me?” He wonders, then grips her. “God, you have to tell them! He creeped me out, but he didn’t actually do anything! Simon’s already called the _FBI_ or something!”

“The glass will start clearing up tomorrow,” River assures him. “You can tell them then.”

But now the door is barred with a desk, and someone is on the other side. Blaine goes taut like a bow: _“Oh god oh god - don’t wake me up, please, I don’t want you to leave!”_ He hauls at the desk, but it cuts his hands.

“Stop!” She pleads, but then a unicorn appears. “You’ll let him in!”

 _“Do you want to hear a story?”_ The unicorn curls up on the bed, wary and tired, but his eyes are _so blue._

 _“Blaine!”_ A man appears - he feels like a father and calls himself a mouse, but in his mouth are rat’s fangs. _“What happened to you?!”_

Blaine tries to focus, but there are too many voices calling for him, and the unicorn turns into Kurt, and the blond man lunges for his throat - but Blaine is still in the other memory, tearing at the desk to unblock the door. _“I promise I’ll stop running, just - **please! I don’t want to go to sleep!”**_

“You’re hurting yourself!” River grabs Blaine’s shoulders - but instead she stumbles into the door.

Another Blaine is newly awake in the hospital bed: He stares at her with bleary hazel eyes, and his hands are wrapped up.

“Excuse me, visitor hours aren’t until - oh, River.” Simon sticks his head in. “Try not to upset Blaine too much, mei-mei. He had a concussion.”

“That explains the glass,” she notes. Simon doesn’t understand, silly boob, but he loves her enough to accept it. “Simon, he didn’t do anything.” She tugs him over to where First Blaine stands. “Come on, Blaine, tell him.”

“Of course he... didn’t...” Simon stares through First Blaine at the corner. “Blaine’s in bed, mei-mei.”

“No, no! The glass is all over the floor, so you couldn’t hear him right! He’s _here,_ look!” She waves, but Simon still only sees one Blaine. _Focus, River, focus._ “He doesn’t need more testing! Blondie didn’t touch him!”

Simon’s mind is like a hive of bees, alert at the disturbance. His forehead creases. “Mei-mei, even if he didn’t assault Blaine, he still kidnapped him and tried to kill his boyfriend. That’s more than enough reason to ask for the BAU. Besides, we have to wait for Blaine to say nothing happened.” Simon tugs her back to his computer.

“Tonight,” she says. “Maybe tomorrow. There’s a lot of glass, and he’s upset.”

“Okay.” He turns. “River, we can’t let too many people know about you, remember? Being a ship medic for three years can only explain so much about why a trauma surgeon can deal with random things.”

“I know,” she says in remorse, and scuffs at the floor. “But the gambler knows things, too.”

He goes back to his computer to resume his work. “Gambler?”

“Wes,” First Blaine says from the corner.

“Wes,” she adds.

“His friend?” Simon’s hands hover above the keyboard. “Um... okay then.” When he sees her pick her way through the broken glass, he sighs. “Mei-mei, where are your shoes?”

* * *

The soldiers visit Blaine once visitor hours start. They aren’t wearing their uniforms, but their thoughts are the same navy blue. Simon eyes the line of teenagers, with River watching in a nearby chair. “I didn’t expect you all to come on the same day, but it’s fine.”

“We’re just going to be a couple minutes each to say hi,” Thad says. “Should we go alone or in pairs?”

“So... apparently, you know the drill because you made one,” Simon works out. “Try not to confuse him. He’s making more sense than he did yesterday, but he’s still really tired.”

“Yeah, he thought Kurt wasn’t human for a while,” David says. “We’re not going to throw philosophy or algebra at him just yet.”

Thad pulls a roll of popsicle sticks out of his pocket. “Pair up and pick a number, everyone. We’re going in chronological order.”

David huffs, but he grabs a popsicle stick. “Ugh. Seventeen, Wes.”

There are a few more minutes of arguing (Wes and David are incensed that they’re going sixth), but Nick and Jeff end up visiting Blaine first, having picked stick four.

Through the slit in the door, they do as Simon says, keeping their words soft and easy to understand. Blaine relaxes at the sight of them in a way that he doesn’t with the hospital staff.

“- like my stupid gay little brother,” Jeff admits. “And I’m half a year _younger_ than you, dude.”

“Did you take some estrogen pills this morning?” Nick asks. “Because you're so pretty it's no _wonder_ you were in that suicide porn movie.”

“Nick, Suicide _Girls_ is the softcore website,” Jeff explains. “Suicide _Dolls_ is an okay movie about girls trying to kill themselves. Besides, that was Riker Lynch and he had, like, two scenes.”

“Yo, Blaine.” Nick flumps down in the rolling chair and shunts himself around on scraping wheels. “If the stalker dude ever comes closer than fifty feet, we’re gonna break his fingers one by one with Wes’ gavel.”

“NICK! Dr. Tam said not to upset him!” Jeff reminds him. “Torture is _upsetting,_ Nick!”

“But Wes wouldn’t let you use it for that, would he?” Blaine wonders.

“No, Blaine, he wouldn’t,” Jeff assures. “Nick -”

“I mean it, though,” Nick says, getting up with a screech of the chair. “That fucker doesn’t deserve to use his hands for a _year.” I love you,_ comes his whisper to Jeff, skittering inside the wall.

“That could be worded better, but okay,” Jeff finishes. “See you later, Blaine.” They step out of the room, and River hears an answering whisper to Nick: _I love you._

* * *

The BAU arrives a couple hours later. Blaine’s still drained, gets nauseous now and then, and it takes him a minute to process things.

As usual, Simon stows River in the psych ward. “You can go out if Zoe or Wash is with you, but if someone who doesn’t know you comes up, try to keep... things...”

“Sane.”

“Conventional,” he finishes. “See you at lunch, mei-mei.”

“Bye.”

He pecks her forehead and heads back to Blaine’s room, where Agents Reid and Morgan are waiting. “He’s still got a week or so before he’s back to full energy, but he’s definitely more coherent than last night.”

Reid comes inside with a knock. “Hello, Blaine? We’re from the FBI. Can you answer a few -”

“He told you.” Blaine takes a long, hopeless look at Reid, then shrinks into the pillow and screws his eyes shut. “ _He told you._ You can’t talk to me anymore.”

“Oh, I might be wrong.” Simon steps over. “Blaine, is everything okay?”

 _“Please,”_ he tells Reid, voice wavering. “Leave.”

“How’s his thinking right now?” Morgan asks. “Reid’s never met Blaine.”

“Talk to his family and friends,” Simon suggests. “Agent Reid probably looks like someone he knows.”

* * *

It’s fairly easy to talk to his family, but the Warblers are another matter entirely. They’d only managed to print the first half of the Warblers’ records before everyone stopped to get more ink and do normal work.

Most of them know little about the stalker himself, which relieves and worries the BAU. On the other hand, the long and winding stories (that tend to involve alcohol or low-end drugs, which therefore requires a sober Warbler to come in and piece the story together) confuse Reid to no end.

“Meetups and shared interests are all good, but that really doesn’t explain why they’re so close-knit for a school choir,” he remarks. “I mean, Nick Grayson smokes marijuana recreationally and David Willis is one of the top four people for alcohol consumption, but even the non-accepting ones just... shrug it off.”

“Well, the arts are pretty accepting of things like that,” Rossi says. “We got similar stuff from Kurt Hummel and his stepbrother. Noah Puckerson smokes now and then, the McKinley show-choir drinks a lot, and both Noah and Santana Lopez are rather sexually active.”

 _“Rather?”_ Morgan asks with a grin. “Puck got Finn’s ex-girlfriend pregnant.”

They take a ten minute break, partly so they can print out the other half of the Warblers’ records. Even with most of them having fairly clean records, eleven people being questioned at a time isn’t something to sniff at.

“The boys are rather unconcerned that covert taping is possibly illegal,” Reid says with a sip of coffee. “Wes tracked Kurt and Blaine over _months_ just for a bet. I thought Wes was ensuring his own outcome occurs for the money, but his family’s wealthy and he doesn’t really do much with the surveillance. Embarrassing a friend on Facebook or blackmailing them for help with homework isn’t exactly sociopathic or deviant.”

“At least the illicit recording had a good side,” Rossi tells him. “Three of them have sustained injuries, and that’s _with_ their friends calling 911 right after they saw it. Maybe this is just one of their weird friendship things.”

“But almost all of them call Blaine stupid, naive, or some version of mentally impaired,” Reid points out. “Granted, they’re exaggerating since they claim Blaine’s constant use of hair gel is responsible, but I’m wondering why otherwise close-knit friends would put him down so much.”

“Well, guys can get like that,” Morgan tells him. “They don’t mean anything by it.”

“They’re actually one of the most stable groups of friends I’ve seen,” Prentiss adds. “They dragged him to the counselor’s office when he started crying in rehearsal, they told a counselor when they realized he was getting stalked, and Wes and David forced Alex to kidnap _them_ so Blaine wouldn’t get more hurt, along with going against police orders to _keep_ looking for him despite David’s injured wrist.”

“Why would they put up with Blaine’s alleged stupidity if they view it as a nuisance?” Reid wonders.

“They probably find it endearing,” Rossi says. “Trent Morrison calls Blaine a Disney Prince, Jeff Woodrow calls Blaine his ‘stupid little brother’ despite being younger than him, and about half of them call Blaine chivalrous or knightly.”

The last few pages are done, and Prentiss hands them out. “We must have used up enough ink for the next month.”

* * *

The black-haired boy with Morgan and Rossi is calm, if disgruntled at having to go to the police station. “Don’t you usually do this for serial killers?” Nick wonders. “Nobody died.”

“Three of your friends got kidnapped and one of them _almost_ died,” Morgan says. “We’d rather not have things get worse.”

He shrugs. “I’m in my high-school choir, I drum on the side, and I smoke pot. What else do you need?”

“Where do you get _pot?_ ” Morgan asks. (On the other hand, he’s glad Nick admitted it right away instead of getting strong-armed into it.)

“I know a guy,” he says with a scoff. “I know you’re worried and all, but pot’s, like, the least dangerous drug. Unless I’m near a swimming pool or a food processor, and then I just need Jeff to distract me with something shiny. Or chocolate.”

“Jeffrey Woodrow, right?” Morgan asks, to a nod. “Does he get high with you, or just keep an eye on you?”

“He keeps an eye on me,” Nick answers, rolling his neck. “Such a buzzkill. ‘Nick, calm down! Nick, stop getting high on campus! Nick, let go of the knife before you bleed everywhere!’”

“What?!” Morgan jolts.

“Don’t worry, it wasn’t a suicide thing!” Nick tells him. “I was high and the knife was making purple swirls, and then I slipped and cut myself. I only needed five stitches, see?”

When he attempts to roll his sleeve up, Morgan stops him. “No, Nick, we’re good. It says on the record you moved in with your aunt Beatrice last year?”

“Nobody _ever_ wants to see the scar,” Nick laments. “And yeah, last year I came out and told Mom I was bi. I wouldn’t take her shit about me _being confused_ or _going through a phase,_ so I left.”

“What happened, exactly?” Rossi continues.

“I’m a little fuzzy after I got high, but I went to Trent’s house, we drank his dad’s whiskey, and I woke up at Jeff’s place.” He thinks. “There was a shit-ton of glass stuck in my boots, but I don’t remember why.”

“...Trent and Jeff? We need you in here,” Morgan calls through the door. The boys look at each other and sigh.

“So Nick,” Rossi picks it back up when they’re inside. “Can you tell us what happened when you left?”

* * *

_“You are not ‘trying to accept me!’ You just don’t want me to fuck up the gay and straight boxes you put the world in!” He grabs his bag, empties out the Dalton uniforms, shoves whatever he can reach from the dresser to replace them. “‘Oh, honey, you’re still young! Soon you’ll figure out who you really’ - fuck that noise! I like guys **and** girls, how hard is that to understand?!”_

_“It’s because you go to Dalton, isn’t it?” She asks, spotting the heap of navy on his bed. “You spend all your time around guys and they have a zero-tolerance -”_

_He lights up a joint and takes a hit. “I didn’t turn bisexual because I go to an all guy’s school! There’s ONE gay guy in twenty Warblers, and he transferred in! That’s a shit record for turning students gay!”_

_“Nick, don’t light up indoors!” She groans when he lets out smoke. “I’m the one paying rent... Nick?” She trails him when he shoulders his bag. “Nick, I’m talking to you.”_

_“What’s that, Mom? No getting high inside the house?” He yanks his boots on and heads to the front door._

_“At least bring your keys -”_

_He smirks, grabs his keyring off the hook, and shakes it at her. “I think I dropped something!” They clatter onto the tile as he opens the door._

_“Nick.” She watches him from the other side of the hallway. “I know you’re upset right now, but if you leave, I won’t let you back in.”_

_“WATCH. ME. BITCH.” He kicks his keys at the wall and takes another hit, pouring a river of smoke into the hallway. Then he shoves the door closed and clomps down the front lawn._

* * *

“Can I just say that was the best coming-out story EVER?” Trent raises a hand out of habit.

“Wait, Nick, you’re _bi_?” Jeff asks.

“You don’t know?!” Nick stares.

“Where’s your dad in all this?” Rossi checks the record. “He and your mom divorced when you were eight. No visitation _or_ child support.”

Nick shrugs. “No idea. Anyway, Trent lives about two streets down, so I just headed to his house -”

“Trent, how long have you known Nick was bi and I didn’t?!” Jeff asks.

“How did the whiskey come in?” Morgan asks.

“He’s like a _ninja!_ ” Trent says, irritated. “I stepped out for two minutes to call Mom, and he was gone!”

* * *

_Trent comes back after telling his mom the Warblers’ usual cover story about Nick being in trouble and acting weird, only to find an empty bedroom. “Ohhhh no. Nick?” But he only needs a few more steps to find Nick in the dining room. “Good, you’re - NICK THAT’S MY DAD’S WHISKEY.”_

_“Yay!” He pumps his fist and nearly spills the latest shot onto his sleeve._

_“No, Nick, not yay!” He grabs the tumbler before Nick can finish the shot. “Not yay at all! How did...” Trent checks the liquor cabinet: The padlock’s gone. **Damn it, Dad,** he sighs. “You’re drunk **and** high right now, aren’t you?”_

* * *

“How did Nick get glass in his boots, then?” Rossi asks. “I figured he broke something when he was fighting with his mother, but apparently not.”

Trent fidgets, then sighs. “He roped me into drinking with him.”

* * *

_“My mom is such a bitch,” Nick grouses._

_“I know!” Trent says after a third shot. “Shit, you can’t **turn people gay** just from going to a same-sex school. We’d all be gay once we graduate!”_

_“Fuck yeah!” Nick takes another shot. “Blaine’s hot and all but he, like, **never talks** outside of class and rehearsal, dude.”_

_“He’s like a Disney prince, but sad and dorky!” Trent laments. “Wes said he took a guy to a dance and major shit happened, and they went to the **hospital!** Why do you do that to half-Asian tenors, world?”_

_“We need -” Nick fumbles for the bottle. “We need to find that bastard who beat him up, and we need to rip his goddamn kneecaps out.” He swigs. “Oh god, you know what? My mom is such a bitch!”_

_“Fuck yeah! You can’t **turn people gay** just from -”_

* * *

“Long and repetitive story short, we went back to Nick’s and kicked in his mom’s headlights,” Trent admits.

“Why am I finding all this out NOW?!” Jeff demands, still unheeded by the other two.

“You know those things get expensive, right?” Morgan says, but he’s more amused than he’d like to admit.

“She didn’t even think it might be us!” Trent argues. “She told Nick’s aunt some gangsters must have done it.”

“Gangsters in Ohio?” Morgan says, raising a brow at them.

“Back on subject,” Rossi reminds them with a chuckle. “How did you end up at Jeff’s place?”

“Jeff’s brother is a murse, so I called Thad once Nick lost coordination,” Trent says.

“Wait, did you say nurse or murse?” Morgan asks.

“Man-nurse equals murse,” Jeff explains, sighing. “Should we get Thad in here?”

* * *

_“I’m getting **so much experience** with you guys,” Justin muses while Thad and Jeff haul Nick into the room. “Your heartrate’s like a punk-rock song,” he says after a quick check._

_“He didn’t get the spins,” Trent reassures him. “He just got really, really bad at walking. He was high and then we drank some whiskey.”_

_“Well, just stick him somewhere quiet with water and aspirin. And a bucket in case he pukes,” Justin adds. “Were you guys having a party?”_

_“Mom kicked me out.” Nick shakes his hands out - they’re tingling. “That bitch.”_

_“Oh god, **what**?!”_

* * *

Unfortunately, Thad left to get Nick’s bag and drop Trent off at home, so that leaves them with a half-hour gap where Nick ended up shirtless and crying in Jeff’s room. “I was tripping _balls,_ ” is all he can remember.

“He thought he was turning into a bird,” Jeff says with a glare.

* * *

_“I need to get the **feathers** off!” Nick’s shirt is by the closet and he’s raking at his shoulder-blades. “If I turn into a bird, then I’ll get -”_

_“Nick!” Jeff grabs his hands - there’s red on his fingertips. “Nick, you don’t have feathers!”_

_“Not yet!” Nick retorts desperately. One hand works out of Jeff’s grasp, and he claws at his ribs. “The wings are growing under my skin and it itches like **shit** -”_

_“Nick, breathe -”_

_“SHUT UP!” Nick sobs and struggles to get loose again. “Everyone’s gonna hear about the bird-mutant! Ha ha let’s stick the stupid bitch in a cage before we eat him!” He strains to see his collarbone: Red. Oh god, there’s only one bird he knows with a red chest. “I’m a fucking **robin?!** Why can’t I at least be awesome, like a vulture or a crow?!”_

* * *

“So he hid under my blanket, tripped out some more, and fell asleep at four AM,” Jeff finishes. “He was hungover, but at least he came down. It was Saturday, so we called his aunt and hung out at my place until she got him.”

“One last thing, boys -” Rossi hands out a picture of Reid. “Does he look like anyone Blaine might know? This is Reid, he’s one of our agents. Blaine reacted very strangely when Reid and Morgan came in this morning.”

A few moments of scrutiny before the four of them shake their heads.

“We don’t know anyone who looks like him, but Blaine dated a total douchebag before he came to Dalton,” Nick says. “Since we weren’t there to tell him not to do anything stupid, Blaine did the stupidest thing _ever_ -”

“Another one?!” Trent demands. “There’s already Kurt, the UPS guy, Gap Dude, and Stalker Guy! How many unrequited loves can Blaine possibly have wandering around town?”

“Are we counting guys _and_ girls?” Thad asks.

Morgan can feel another tangled story coming on, so he clears his throat while fighting a grin. (Rossi’s having as a hard a time as he is with keeping a straight face.) “Guys, I think we got everything we need. You can go now.”

“Oh, good. I need to talk to _this guy._ ” Jeff gets up, fuming, and grabs Nick’s shirt.

Morgan chuckles. “Don’t be too hard on him, man!”

* * *

The Warblers already knew that the increasing number of people in Nick’s room was an ill omen, but even they’re surprised to find Jeff dragging Nick out by the collar. “You didn’t even remember to _check with me!”_

 _“Ow!”_ Nick clips a chair. “I barely remembered Trent was drunk! How would I remember what I said to you?”

Prentiss looks around: The Warblers are listening to the conversation amidst strategically placed coffee cups, phone games, and the errant book.

“You still left me in the dark for a _year!_ Not even ‘Jeff, you know when I moved into my aunt’s place and Trent and I got wasted? What did I say?’” He goes to the desk. “Sir, where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall.” The man points left, smiling. Jeff thanks him and drags Nick that way.

“Jeff, _tripping. My. Balls. Off!_ ” That’s the last the Warblers hear before Jeff reaches the bathroom and locks it.

“Hoooo boy.” David rubs his hands together - a feat considering one arm’s in a sling - and the Warblers cluster around him. “At least one of them said ‘I love you’ while Nick was stoned. Five bucks on Jeff.”

“It was Nick, man, homeboy’s mad as shit,” Dante counters gleefully.

“Both, but why was Trent involved?” Fred wonders.

Wes gives a long sigh and swishes his cup - it’s almost empty. “I need more coffee. Also, five on Nick.”

* * *

“Dude, why are you pissed?” Nick asks. “I know it sucks that five people found out the same time you did, but -”

“No, it’s just... you’re my best friend.” He needs to do something that doesn’t involve punching Nick, so he tears up a paper towel instead.

“ _Duh,_ man.”

“My best friend who likes getting stoned, and whose logic is not like other people’s,” Jeff continues through the paper towel. “But even you have to know that running away from home while you’re high is _not the best thing to do._ Why didn’t you call me when you left? Shit, why didn’t you call me _before the joint kicked in?_ ”

“Sometimes I get high because it’s easier to deal with you,” Nick admits.

"What?!"

“Not when I got kicked out!” He assures. “But, you know. In general.” He has to cram himself between the sink and the window. “In general... you’re always looking out for me. It feels like it’s going to cave in on me if I think too much about it, and I don’t know why, so I just get stoned and then I’m good for a week or two.”

Jeff takes a look at Nick. “Is this why you needed therapy last trimester?”

“Sort of.” He presses into the tile.

Jeff breathes out. “So which of the guys did you tell _that_ first?”

“You.” He’s a little bit hurt, but considering Jeff didn’t know he was bi for a year, that’s understandable.

A quiet. Jeff brushes his hands off and moves to another sheet.

“Did I do something stupid while I was wasted?” Something plaintive shivers through Nick’s voice. “Because I can’t remember. Nothing useful. I remember the bird thing and crying a lot, but -”

“No.” Jeff sighs. “Nick, you were fine. It’s just, I went a _year_ not knowing the exact reason you got kicked out. I figured you just didn’t want to talk about it, and then I find out that it’s because you’re bi. While the FBI is trying to find out about Blaine’s nutcase stalker. So yeah, circumstances make that harder to process than it usually is.”

* * *

_In the blanket’s green cocoon, Nick hides. He’s not itching anymore, but in place of the feathers under his skin, there’s a barn owl at the window._

_“Not many humans can reach the Otherworld,” the owl remarks, deep-voiced with a British accent. Nick almost knows who it is, but he can’t pin it down. “Must be from your cousin’s side. If only you weren’t high **and** drunk, though - then you’d be much less terrified.”_

_“Sarah? She’s engaged, dude!” He pulls himself up with a rustle of green, glaring at the owl. “And you’re not even human, so stay the fuck away from her!”_

_“No wonder you’re a robin. Small and territorial.” The owl laughs as white feathers burst through the window. He becomes a tall man in his twenties, with blonde hair to his shoulders - Sarah’s fiance._

_“Jareth?!” Nick stumbles in his attempt to get closer, missing the bed by a hand-width. “Oh god, Sarah’s fiance is an OWL! We need to call her about -”_

_“Nick, at least stop yelling at the window while you’re tripping balls.” Jeff tugs the curtains shut. “People will wonder why a shirtless bleeding guy is in my room.”_

_Jareth leaves as the world is breaking under Nick's feet, and it makes his heart even worse. Nick's shaking too hard and he thumps onto the floor - Jeff has to pull him onto the mattress._

_"Mom's an idiot." He scrubs at his face, trying to break free of the tangled folds. "She's an idiot and Sarah's fiance is an owl. My family's fucked, Jeff - I don't want to be a **robin!** "_

_Jeff tries not to laugh and unwinds the blanket. "Don't worry, Nick, robins are cute."_

_"But Jareth's an **owl!** " Nick despairs. "That's, like, eighty times more badass than a fucking robin!"_

_"Did you watch a nature show before you lit up?" Jeff laughs this time, but softly, and he settles around Nick's shoulders._

_Jeff is warm and unbreaking and still. Nick tries to focus through his shivering - Jeff's heartbeats pound into his ear, so much slower than the ones ripping through his own chest._

_"I love you," he grieves into Jeff's shirt, wetness seeping through the cotton. He tries to hold tighter, but his hands get tangled in the blanket._


	29. Maid Marian

_**“Real magic can never be made by offering up someone else’s liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back. The true witches know this.”** _

Wes sits at the table as his father glares at him, but he considers it progress that his mother’s stopped following him around inside their own (rather large) house. It's been a good five minutes since they finished breakfast, and he's getting worried until his father finally says, “Wesley Kahale.”

“Yes?” He’s not surprised at his full name, though he’s still a bit nervous.

“You are not driving alone _until I say so,_ ” he orders. “You walk, you take the bus, or you take a family member. As much as I trust the boys, they trust _you_ and you’ll probably stretch things like you did with David.”

“Okay.” He sighs.

“What on earth possessed you to hang up on your mother and vanish for _three more hours_?” He asks, though it’s more of a plea than a demand.

“We had to look for Blaine,” he explains, and his father sighs.

“Practically half the city was looking for him! I know you're his friends, but two less people -”

“No, but we _had_ to,” he twists his shirt sleeves, shunting his gaze wherever he can. His eyes are hurting. “We had to, Dad, we lost track of time -”

“Wes?” Fingers slip under his chin and force him to stay still. “Wes, you’re crying.”

“We thought he was just in the house,” Wes goes on, trying to keep control. “We were stuck in the basement after he ran off, and then the police told us we’d been there two hours, and - and then when we found him, the guy was choking Kurt and _Blaine thought we were dead._ We should have - we should have yelled for someone, or tried to get out faster -”

“God.” His father’s chair screeches onto his side, and warm shoulders press into his own. "You think it's your _fault_ for being tied to a chair by a crazy guy?! Someone would have found Blaine eventually -"

“That doesn’t make it _feel better!_ ” He despairs. “He thought _we_ didn’t find him sooner because we _died!_ ”

“Wes, he hit his head,” his father says above Wes’ shoulder. “He wasn’t thinking straight.”

“I know, but...” He curls up with his hands to his mouth, like they’re burned. “He thought we’d die if he couldn’t see us, Dad, he didn’t even want to _sleep_ because he thought the guy would get him -”

“Yeah, definitely not driving alone,” his father finishes, and that's it.

* * *

"Boy, why the hell did you let Wes drive off with you?" David's mother wonders. “Sure, he left out some really important things when you got back to his car, but -”

"We had to look for Blaine!" David tells her. "Mom, the guy only took us because -"

"Because he didn't want you to call the police," she finishes. "That's not the problem! Davy, the police found you. You were mostly fine. But then you just went off _again?!_ You were hurt and he broke your phone! If you and Wes lost each other after running off again, where would you be?"

"I - I don't know.” Oh shit, he didn’t think about that part. “But we made sure to keep -”

“Davy, you and Wes weren't the only ones looking for him,” she reminds him pointedly. “The police, the Warblers, Kurt, Kurt's _family_ -"

"We were stuck in the basement for two hours and Blaine's stupid enough without literal brain damage!" He says. "The guy was stalking him before, Mom -"

"That's why police are here." She grips his shoulder. "Honey, calm down."

"But when we found him, the guy was choking Kurt out and Blaine was going _crazy!_ " David presses his arm into his stomach - anything else and he'll lose his balance. "And he thought we were dead, Mom, he thought we didn't look for him because the bastard killed us -"

She huffs, but hugs him anyway. "Davy?" She asks into his shoulder. "Would you have died before you stopped looking for Blaine? Or any of them?"

"Yeah," he says without missing a beat.

"We did a good job with you, then." She laughs and shakes her head, and wetness trickles into his shirt.

* * *

The evening is dusty velvet outside the window when Luke Anderson knocks on the door. “Blaine? It’s me.”

“Hi, Dad.” He sits up without feeling like he’s run a mile. “Was work busy?”

“I took the rest of the week off.” He’s still standing, but manages to relax. “You look better than... well, last time.”

“Yeah, I was totally out of it when I first got in,” Blaine admits. “But according to Dr. Tam, staying conscious at all means that whatever brain damage I might -”

“Okay, too much information.” He sits down, weary, and Blaine notices the dark spots under his eyes. “I didn’t sleep too well,” he remarks, and runs a hand over his face. “I was looking for this.” Luke pulls out a worn book, crackling leather and tea-colored pages. It isn’t the worst condition, but it hasn’t been touched for years, either.

“Please tell me that’s not one of my old journals,” Blaine hopes.

“Ha, no!” Luke laughs, but it’s short. “You don’t remember?” So he hands it over.

_Griffin Slayer,_ it reads in dusty silver, _and Other Tales of Wonder._

Blaine turns the page like he’ll get hit if he makes the wrong move, but instead he finds a child’s doodle on the first page. A tall crowned man spans the left margin, facing a dragon crushed into the corner. His hair is a net of ridiculous spirals.

And with the smell of the paper comes memory:

_“When I grow up, I wanna be a prince!” Eight-year-old Blaine digs the pencil earnestly into the book. “I’ll be awesome and tall and I’ll fight eight million monsters, and I’m gonna be awesome! Everyone’s gonna love me!”_

_"You said awesome twice, Blaine," Luke laughs. "Don’t draw in the book. Here, I have some paper."_

“Why would you bring this over?” Blaine wonders, and his breath’s gone cold. There’s a small, knotty quiet before Luke can answer.

"Do you want to hear a story?" Luke pleads, and even Blaine knows that's not what he means.

"Yes," he hazards, and hands the book over.

Luke needs to swallow before he turns the page. “‘A griffin has two hearts,’” he reads, formal and uncertain. “‘One is an eagle’s, and one is a lion’s -’”

“‘And to kill a griffin, you must pierce them both.’” The words drop out of Blaine’s mouth before he can think, and it shocks a smile out of his father.

_**“Pierce** them both, Blaine, not purse. A purse is a bag.” Luke puts the pencil on the table. “At this rate, you should read it to me.”_

“You haven’t smiled at me since I came out,” Blaine says in a daze, and Luke is concerned but affronted.

“Of course I have!”

“No. No, I meant... you smile in my direction.” He kneads the blanket, like the words are hidden somewhere in the wrinkles. “Because of something I did or said, or some - some _reason_ that involves me, but - _smiling._ Just because. You haven’t done that... in...”

_“Yeah, but you don’t mix things up or get the words -” Blaine shifts around, but in the dim light he slips off the edge of the blanket. “Ow!”_

_“Blaine, are you okay?!” Luke switches the light back to normal._

“Do I make sense right now?” Blaine asks, tensing. He’s getting dizzy, he needs to slow his breathing down -

And behind the ghost of his eight-year-old self, there’s his father asking again: “Blaine, are you okay?”

In, out. In, out. His face is wet. He shakes his head and wipes his eyes on a sleeve, and Luke doesn’t quite know whether he should leave or get someone.

Simon Tam comes inside, almost on cue. “Blaine, are you all right?”

“No.” He wipes his face.

“Do you want your father to step out for a minute or two, so you can calm down?” He taps the man’s shoulder, but again Blaine shakes his head, and Simon shares a look with Luke. “I’m not sure what to do, then.”

Blaine tries to say something through the tears still going down, but instead he latches onto his father like he’s eight again, and the book flips closed on Luke’s hand. “Please,” he begs into Luke’s shirt, kitten-soft. “Please don’t leave.”

His hair-gel is starting to flake; most of his hair’s still plastered flat, but a few resilient curls are breaking loose.

Simon unwinds Blaine from Luke’s torso so he can stand up. “Blaine, we’re going to talk for a minute. You can still see us from the door, though. Is that okay?”

He nods, but it’s shaky.

“I was reading him a story,” Luke says after they step out the door, lifting the book sheepishly. “He loved fairy tales when he was little. Figured that would break the ice, since...”

“You don’t have the best history,” Simon finishes.

“I don’t think we _have_ one to be good or bad,” he admits. “He was about fifteen when he told me and his mother that he was gay. And I told him I needed to process that, but... later on, I -”

“Tried to turn him straight?” Simon says, and he shrugs.

“Well, I did try fixing a car with him, but... The rest of the time, I didn’t do _anything.”_

_“I’m fine, Dad!” Blaine climbs back into bed with the floppy energy of a puppy._

_Luke’s caught between relief and amusement, then laughs and roughs up Blaine’s curls. “You’re going to be the messiest prince ever with this hair.”_

_“But I like my hair!” Blaine argues. “It’s like yours!”_

Luke turns the book around in his hands. It cracks open to the third story’s title page, where there’s a heartfelt picture of a griffin with a scribbled mane and stick-talons for front feet. Wings sprout from its shoulders to make a tent around the title, and it has two hearts crammed into its chest. He skims the page, but falls back into a memory.

_“Blaine!” Luke catches him drawing in the book again, and Blaine shrinks guiltily. “I can get you a sketchbook if you like drawing.”_

_“But real books smell nicer!”_

_"What does that have to do with it?" He wonders, amused._

“Wait, you read the child-eating version of _Griffin Slayer_ to a five-year-old?” Simon wonders, pointing at the top of the page.

_\- and the griffin said, “Foolish boy, have you forgotten? A griffin has two hearts! One is an eagle’s and one is a lion’s, and to kill a griffin, you must pierce them both! Your spear and sword are shattered, but the eagle’s heart still sounds within my chest!” So his red wings beat, and the only the greatest trees still stood in the gale._

_The prince would not run, for he was brave unto death. But as he hid behind his shield, he despaired of seeing home again. “Griffin,” cried he over the wind, “I fear not if I die, but let my men take my body home! I cannot bear my parents to see my bones picked white!”_

“Eight, but yes. Blaine took a few years to make the connection between a predator flying off with live prey and leaving a bunch of skeletons,” Luke says.

“Well, that _would_ fly over most kids’ heads,” Simon concurs. “Anyway, Mr. Anderson, Blaine’s very sweet, but even he has limits. Don’t expect him to forgive you for the next two years.”

“I’m not,” he admits, and exhales wearily. “I can’t believe I needed him to get kidnapped just to start talking again.”

“Still better than my parents,” Simon tells him, blunt but not unkind. They step back inside, where Blaine is mostly calm under the blanket.

_I wonder where the other Blaine’s gone,_ Luke thinks. _The one who could take anything without a blink._ Did that Blaine leave when he did? He wonders in regret.

* * *

In a surprising turn, Blaine consents to an assault test. It goes frightfully quickly: Nothing’s on his clothes or hair. The bruise patterns don’t match up with being held down or hit. No drugs are lingering in his system.

So they’ll have to leave matters alone, even with the unappealing option of “he doesn’t remember if anything happened because he was wandering around concussed for half a day.”

“Hey there, Blaine!” Jameela checks up on him after he’s been cleared for an unassisted shower. “I bet you feel so much better after - _fndskalganmt._ ” She grabs a nearby staff member and points at Blaine with a squeak.

“What happened?” Blaine wonders, checking whatever he can see on himself. He runs a hand through his hair, and it tangles up around his hands. “Is something -”

“You are the most _adorable_ thing!” She declares. “You need to move in with me so you can wear a suit and sing all day, and nobody will ever kidnap you again because I’mma fuck their shit up!”

“Jameela -”

“Jameela,” she says, then coughs. “Oh, sorry. You were right.”

“Anyway, Blaine’s gay,” Marlin tells her with a laugh. “His boyfriend called this morning.”

“He can _visit!_ ” She argues. “And so can his hot straight friends!”

Marlin laughs at her. “They’re in high school!”

“Not for long!” She retorts. “Hot Asian guy, hot brunet, and hot dreadlock guy are seniors! That means they’ll be in college next year and it’s okay to say they’re hot.”

“Um,” Blaine cuts in. “Wes has a girlfriend -”

“Lalalalala!” She plugs her ears.

* * *

The BAU meets up again in the police station. “The boys mentioned that Blaine has a history of ‘unrequited loves,’” Rossi says to the BAU team.

“Yeah - ‘the UPS guy, Gap Dude, Kurt, and Alex,’” JJ says with a sigh. “And Thad mentioned that _both_ genders are after him in general.”

“I wonder if that’s why the Warblers are all so protective of him,” Reid muses. “They explicitly view him as a _younger_ brother, so perhaps they’re subconsciously averse to people who risk damaging his innocent and straightforward view of the world. Such as Alex.”

“Understatement of the _century,_ ” Morgan says with a grin. He presses speed-dial for Garcia and puts her on speaker. “Hey there, bombshell,” he says when Garcia picks up.

_“Greetings, my delectable chocolate statue,”_ Garcia replies. _“Any leads on why our Disney Prince made reality would get kidnapped by someone he doesn’t know?”_

“The Warblers mentioned that Blaine has a history of ‘unrequited loves’ among both genders,” he says. “More frequently, they’re in love with him. Can you look up Terry Hanari, Jeremiah Missions, and Kurt Hummel? Kurt’s already in a relationship with Blaine, but we need to see if there’s any pattern that Alex might fit into.”

_“Well, they’re all attractive middle-class gay men in Ohio,”_ Garcia says. _“Aside from that, there’s a weak pattern at best. Terry’s Japanese and either a seven or an eight-point-five, depending on whether you like the got-in-a-fight nose. Jeremiah and Alex are blond, but Jeremiah's more of a boy-next-door with his big blue eyes while Alex was on the swim team and owns a boat, and that means I can literally say "Hello sailor." Except I don't want to, because he's been stalking a teenager and that is **ick,** "_ she adds.

“Oh boy,” JJ says once she scans the records. “No wonder the Warblers are protective of him.”

_“You’re **welcome**!”_ Garcia says. _"Kurt would be a ten since he has to be an Elf from Lord of the Rings, but I knocked him down to seven for jailbait reasons. Meanwhile, His Highness Blaine has the body of a god and the eyes of a puppy/duckling hybrid, which puts him in my very special 10-Under-18 category.”_

“Did anyone get info on the man Reid looks like?” Rossi realizes, scanning their notes. “Nick Grayson only said that Blaine dated, quote-unquote, a ‘total douchebag.’”

“No luck,” Hotch replies. “Only four of the boys know anything about the mystery guy, and it’s only that the relationship ended badly. Maybe Alex is working with him?”

“I don’t know, ‘douchebag’ spans the whole gamut of personalities,” Prentiss says. “Blaine’s very sheltered and the Warblers tend to overreact, so the guy’s actual personality could range from just unpleasant to outright abusive.”

“But they _do_ have common sense,” Morgan says. “If those boys had one thought that Blaine got abused, they’d have told someone a _long_ time before we came in.”

“Lots of abuse victims cover things up, though,” Rossi points out. “Maybe they don’t know because Blaine just didn’t tell them.”

_“Oh, I found something!” Garcia comes back in. “Aside from Kurt, they’re all a smidge older than Blaine - generally about two to four years. His Highness needs a big flashing Jailbait sign before someone **else** tries to kidnap him.”_

“Actually, the age of consent in Ohio is sixteen,” Reid tells them. “So while it may not be socially _encouraged_ to have a sexual relationship with a seventeen-year-old, it’s still technically legal -”

_“Lalalalalala not listening!”_

Morgan has to laugh. “Thanks, mama bear. Keep us updated.”

_“Aye-aye, Captain Morgan.”_ She hangs up.

“Well, this is even weirder than we thought,” Hotch remarks. “No distinct patterns in Blaine’s relationships, and nobody even knows who Alex is aside from being Blaine’s stalker.”

After an hour of checking records again, Prentiss clears her throat: “Quick thought - maybe the boys don’t know Blaine had an abusive relationship because _Blaine_ doesn’t know it was abusive,” she offers. “I mean, someone with his naivete and loneliness could easily get caught in that situation without realizing it. He might not recognize the subtler kinds of emotional or verbal abuse, and Kurt's mentioned that Blaine does pretty much everything he says.”

“I’ll talk to Blaine tomorrow morning,” Morgan says.

* * *

Greg and Roger sit across the table from a blond man.

“Hello, Alex,” Greg says. His teeth are like rat’s fangs, searing in the light. “My name is Jerry, and this is Tom. You will tell us everything you know about Blaine Anderson.”

“Aren’t you Blaine’s house manager?” Alex asks.

“ _Wonderful_ start,” Greg congratulates him, mouth thinning.

“Look, I didn’t mean to do anything to Blaine,” Alex protests. “I just... I lost my temper, okay? If that’s why I’m -”

“Strangling a teenager in front of his hallucinating boyfriend is _losing your temper?!_ ” Greg demands, surging up. “You got in a fight with his friends before you kidnapped them! Then you locked them in your -”

Roger grips him. “Jerry.”

Greg struggles at first, but forces a laugh and returns to his seat. “Oh, lover-boy, you want to know what losing your temper is?” He flicks an ice-pick out of his sleeve. It glints as he tosses it up, and he watches as it lands upright between Alex’s cuffed hands. He leaves it there until Alex starts to edge back.

“Damn it, five minutes and you’re already doing the knife thing,” the dean says sourly. “You’re paying for the table if they ask.”

“Now again, Alex.” Greg pries the ice-pick out of the wood. “Tell us everything you know about Blaine Anderson.”


	30. Jack Jingly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally saved the wrong copy of this chapter last week, and I lost SIX PAGES. *headdesk* Still, I managed to salvage the important parts.

* * *

_**“They’ll be back by morning, sad and sneezing, and you’ll have to be easy with them for a bit. They’ll be back, for they’m not the sort to trade something for nothing, and no more am I. Robin Hood might have stayed for us if we were.”** _

Six of the Warblers are going on vacation with family, so the BAU decides to sit the remainder down the next morning before Morgan heads off to talk to Blaine again. 

This proves to be a mistake. 

While the boys are generally better behaved than most of the adults they’ve questioned, getting them _all_ in a room is chaos. In the past fifteen minutes, there’s been two arguments, one misunderstood story, and four instances where the Warblers really should have called an adult. 

On the other hand, they rarely seem to _need_ one. 

“- and State Farm’s great, but on the freeway in rush hour? It would have taken them like, eight hours to get to us, so I just called Thad about hotwiring the car,” Trent finishes. 

“Was Thad even _born_ when the 1964 Mustang was being made?” JJ points out. “How could he have walked you through hotwiring your car if he couldn’t see the engine?” 

“FaceTime.” Trent holds his iPhone up. 

Morgan’s quiet, but that’s probably because his face is about to split from how big his grin is. Rossi’s coughing too politely to have a sore throat. 

“Wait,” Hotch notes at an unusually long part of Rossi’s notes. “Nick: You got high, _then_ drunk, _after_ you got kicked out for being bisexual. Aren’t you seventeen?” 

“That was last year, so I was sixteen,” he amends, which doesn’t make them feel better. 

“Am I the last fucking person you told?!” Jeff bursts. “ _Nobody else_ is surprised!” 

“I can pretend I didn’t come out yet and tell you first,” Nick offers. 

“Nick, you can’t _redo_ coming out!” Jeff pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“To be fair, he didn’t actually sit us down and go ‘hey guys, I’m bi’,” Fred explains. “Me and Nick were hanging out in April, he mentioned he slept with a guy from a club, and it sort of... spread around to the rest of the guys.” 

“What _club_?” David wonders. “There’s like, five non-straight guys in Dalton’s clubs -” 

“Oh, it wasn’t a _club_ -club, it was Scandals,” Nick corrects. 

The silence in the room (and the horrified jaw-drops) means that it’s not just news to the BAU. 

“Nick, you’re seventeen!” Thad reminds him. “You don’t even _look_ twenty like Blaine does!” 

“I do if I change a six to a three on my driver’s license,” he grins. “‘Seriously? You look sixteen!’” he mimics in a low voice. “‘Yeah, my friends say I’m immortal,’” he answers himself. 

“So who’s the redhead?” David demands. “She’s like, twenty-five!” 

“What, Sansa? She’s my therapist,” Nick assures. “And she’s twenty-THREE.” 

“She’s your _what?!_ ” 

_“Back on subject.”_ Prentiss cuts in as much for protocol as to help everyone scour their brains of all the bombs Nick just dropped. “So once the marijuana and whiskey kicked in for Nick, the first thing _you_ did, Trent, was... call a friend to take him to _another_ friend’s house?” 

"It wasn't like he got hurt," Trent says. “It was even a PG trip - not like David’s birthday, where they accidentally ate half the pot brownies.” 

“I told you!” Jeff’s gone red. “I didn’t use the lube for sex! I thought it was glitter and his house was alive!” 

“It’s not that he didn’t get hurt,” Hotch explains, but he can feel their focus scattering. “You guys are unusually competent for a high-school choir, but legally, most of you are… still… minors.” 

By the end of his sentence, the discussion’s splintered into heated sub-groups about what must be five different parties. Or maybe a single giant one - they’re never too sure with these guys. 

"- only failed to bake a cake!" Trent argues. "I didn't burn my own clothes like Thad!" 

"Strong caution, Trent! My actions under altered states must be viewed with _strong caution!"_

“You have like, fifty cousins, Wes! How am I supposed to keep track of who I don’t talk to?” 

_“Eight!”_ Wes retorts to Brandon. “That’s hardly out of your capabilities -” 

JJ’s either mortified or about to burst out laughing (as is Rossi), and Morgan’s not even bothering to restrain himself since nobody can hear him anyway. Judging by his frightened but baffled expression, Reid is about as worried as Hotch. 

"Dante’s a Cuban guy with dreads! Enlighten me on how to call him my name, while you’re doing a body shot off him, without making me _‘upset!’_ " Jeff tells Nick with vicious air quotes. 

There are at least three reasons for Prentiss to be alarmed. "Boys! _We need to figure out Blaine's stalker!"_ She calls. 

“HOW ARE YOU NOT GETTING THIS?” Jeff’s specific mix of desperation and fury means that Nick’s probably missed something important. 

“God, Jeff, you are _way_ too uptight -” 

Jeff shrieks and tosses his thermos water in Nick's face. His action’s like a spell breaking - when the other Warblers hear him, their voices peter down into a guilty silence. 

“…Time-out-let’s-go-over-here.” Trent hooks an arm around the seething blond and pulls him several seats away from Nick, to whom Fred hands over a towel. (Yes, a terrycloth one.) 

“Why do you have a towel in your bag?” JJ asks. 

“Twin little brothers,” the brunet explains. 

“Okay... What were we talking about, guys?” Prentiss asks, looking at her notes. 

Morgan quits laughing and checks his watch - it’s only been five minutes, which surprises and concerns him because they’ve got another half-hour. “All I remember is that Nick’s way too smart for his own good,” he admits. 

“Oh yeah! Nick got stoned and drunk after he came out,” Trent supplies. 

“Right,” Rossi recalls. “So Jeff, why didn’t you call Nick’s mother if only to tell her he was at your place? You can’t just let a sixteen-year-old vanish for a night, especially if he’s high.” 

"I didn’t want him calling _Mom!_ " Nick rubs at his hair with the towel and tosses it back to Fred. "'If you leave right now, I'm not letting you back in?' Fucked-up way to say 'I love you.’” 

“And your way _WASN’T?_ ” Jeff snaps. 

The grins on several Warblers appear like Cheshire cats, and are unnoticed by the two distracted members. Five-dollar bills crackle under the table, only to freeze at the look on Nick’s face. 

“Oh god. _Oh god!_ ” Nick groans, ramming his head into the table. “You said I didn’t do anything _stupid!_ Why didn’t you tell me?!” He demands. 

“You thought you were a bird!” 

“No! No, high-stupid is different from _Blaine_ -stupid!” His voice is crumbling and he makes a near-frightened noise, wringing at his temples. “Why - didn’t - you - _TELL ME?_ ” 

Even the Warblers can’t figure out what’s happening - they’re stuck halfway through their money exchange, and Prentiss is kind of worried that Nick’s going to start crying. 

“Nick?” Jeff asks, voice like a too-tight guitar string. 

_“No,”_ he spits thickly. He shoulders the door open and Jeff follows, grabbing his bag as an afterthought. When the door shuts behind them, the money flashes back into the boys’ pockets. 

“Okay, guys?” David’s grin is replaced with tight concern. “Betting’s on hold.” 

“I’m sorry if I’m prying, but I’m just really curious: Is Jeff gay?” JJ asks. 

“Yes,” Thad answers. 

“No!” Wes counters. “They’re just the sexually-incompatible version of Kurt and Blaine.” 

“He dated three girls and two guys,” David states. “He’s at least a little bit bi.” 

“Or _maybe_ he’s just experimenting,” Martin points out. 

“Homeboy’s Nick-sexual and he doesn’t know or he won’t admit it,” Dante finishes. “You can’t _accidentally_ date five people with black or dark brown hair -” 

“Guys!” Trent says in horror. “We just gave her _five answers_ to ‘is Jeff gay’!” 

“Yes, no, bi, experimenting, Nick… shit, we _did,_ ” David lists them off. “Is Jeff LYING to us?!” 

“No, _Nick_ lies to us because he’s got three definitions of truth,” Wes corrects. “Jeff’s normal.” 

“Why would Nick lie to his friends?” Reid asks. 

“So! We were talking about Blaine’s stalker?” Thad’s got a performance smile plastered on. 

“Uh…” JJ looks at all of their suddenly-calm faces and knows this is an uphill battle. “Can you tell us the dates and times you all saw Alex?” 

The blond’s pleading drifts through the misted window. _“You can’t **what** , Nick? There’s no wrong answer to this!” _

David roots through his bag and gets a normal notebook, a pocket one, and a DVD. _“This -”_ he motions to the notebooks, “- is what I told the counselor, like, twenty years ago.” 

“And this is the DVD of the kidnapping,” Trent taps it. “The one from the rehearsal room only has the last couple of minutes, so I talked to school security and grabbed their copy once they found that part.” 

“That…” Rossi skims through the normal-sized notebook - there are Post-It notes marking the necessary pages. “That’s… actually, it’s pretty damn smart of you guys.” 

“We’d be screwed if we didn’t keep our shit straight,” David admits. 

“Well…” JJ checks the clock. “Apart from the side-tracking, that took thirty seconds.” 

_“You know you can just _tell me_ if you don’t want to talk in a public -”_

_“But I don’t want to TALK!”_ Nick pleads. _“Just fucking **leave it**_!” He sounds angry, but through the foggy window, they know he’s got his eyes to the floor. 

“Oh god, what if Nick’s dad came back?!” Trent asks. “ _Nick_ might be getting Jeff to lie and date a bunch of decoys because he doesn’t want Jeff to get hurt!” 

“He can’t do anything, he has a restraining order,” Wes assures. 

“What?!” Prentiss exclaims. 

“He didn’t tell you?!” David face-palms. “Nick, you dumbass!” 

_“- the hell are you acting so **weird?!”**_ Jeff yells, and instantly regrets it. _“Wait -”_

_“FUCK. YOU. BITCH!”_ Nick’s voice is too hoarse to be angry, and thin as the light under the door. _“You’re the only one who doesn’t **call** me that!” _

* * *

After they’re finally done with the Warblers, the BAU is exhausted and they still don’t have any leads on Alex’s motivations. However, they _do_ have the important details of “Blaine is Prince Charming’s gay cousin” and “Alex has been stalking Blaine for weeks, if not months.” 

“So we’ve got an attractive, wealthy young man who’s also very naive and romantic,” Morgan starts. “That’s a reason for people to fall in love with him at first sight.” 

“ _Kurt_ fell in love with him at first sight,” JJ reminds them. 

“I’m just wondering - how many things do we _not_ know about Nick Grayson?” Reid asks. 

“A _lot,_ ” Rossi notes, partly amused but still concerned. “Wes mentioned that Nick has ‘three definitions of truth,’ so we’ll probably need to question him again.” 

“They also said Nick doesn’t think like normal people,” Prentiss remarks. “Jeff pissed him off by calling him weird, so he probably has a history of being bullied for it.” 

“Anyway, nobody knows much about Alex specifically,” Hotch resumes the main subject. “And Alex isn’t too helpful himself. According to Tom and Jerry, he calls strangling a teenager ‘losing his temper.’” 

“So he’s either downplaying it to keep out of trouble, or he’s delusional enough not to care,” Morgan notes. “Or it really _is_ normal for him to get violent when he’s angry.” 

“Definitely sounds delusional,” Prentiss taps the notes from the man’s questioning session. “He’s had this love-triangle fantasy revolving around him, Kurt, and Blaine for at least a few weeks before the Dalton staff sent out the message about him.” 

“Ohhhh boy,” Morgan sighs. “Sounds like erotomania. Has he interacted with Blaine before?” 

“Not that we know yet,” Rossi says. “Jerry had to step out of questioning pretty early - Alex _recognized_ him as the Andersons’ house manager.” 

_“What?”_ JJ scans the notes – sure enough, Jerry’s writing is replaced with Tyke’s handwriting by the second paragraph. 

_“Creepy,”_ Prentiss says. “If he knows Jerry’s civilian identity, he might have been following Blaine even longer than the Warblers know.” 

“Maybe they’re online buddies and Alex mistook it for something closer?” Rossi suggests. “With Blaine’s track record of going the extra mile by default, Alex might be yet another person who mistook Blaine’s general compassion for romantic interest.” 

“But _someone_ would have recognized him if they were Facebook friends,” Hotch points out. 

“Not necessarily,” Reid points out. “A number of people on social media use assumed names and non-identifying avatars, so it would be easy for Alex to avoid revealing his identity online.” 

Morgan calls Garcia. “Hey, princess?” 

_“Yes, my lord?”_

“Can you check Blaine’s online stuff - Tumblr, Facebook, the whole shebang -” 

_“Yeah, I was about to call you in a minute. Already checked his Facebook and none of the fake names led to Alex. I’ll call you later if his Twitter and Tumblr accounts come up with anything.”_

“Hmm. Thanks anyway, baby-girl,” Morgan says. “Wait, you’re looking at his Facebook?” 

_“Have you **heard** Blaine sing?”_ Garcia asks him. _“A squishy half-Asian should NOT have enough soul to put Frank Sinatra to shame.”_

Nick blunders down the hallway to the bathroom, clunky and stiff like he’s playing Blind Man’s Bluff. The deadbolt scrapes into place, and Jeff gets there a hair too late. 

_“NICK!”_ He tries the door. “Come on, man, I’m _sorry!_ ” 

“Oh god, Nick’s _crying!_ ” Trent despairs past the corner. “He’s the stoner! He doesn’t _cry!”_

“Guys?” Morgan steps over. “Is Nick _okay?_ ” 

“We don’t even know,” Thad admits. 

* * *

“Well,” Simon tells Morgan when he comes back to the Blue Sun hospital, “we didn’t find anything matching up with sexual assault. Unless Alex was inhumanly good at covering his tracks, nothing happened. And I’m glad, because Blaine’s a gay teen in Ohio - he has enough trouble without getting kidnapped, concussed, _and_ assaulted.” 

“Someone’s falling in love with their hot patient,” Morgan teases. 

“My sister’s close to his age,” Simon corrects, though he smiles. “But I’m not surprised you made that joke. Everyone _else_ is falling in love with him.” 

“Tell me about it,” Morgan groans, and goes inside. “Hi, Blaine? It’s Derek Morgan from - _wow._ ” Morgan needs a minute to process how Blaine’s hair is about three times bigger than when he last saw it. 

“They don’t allow non-medical hair products in the hospital,” Blaine tells him sheepishly, running a hand through his hair. It gets stuck halfway through, and he sighs while untangling it. 

“I told you, Blaine! Brushing your curls means death!” Jameela insists above the clipboard before she steps out. 

Morgan chuckles and sits in the bedside chair. "Blaine, we wanted to talk to you before, but you thought my teammate Spencer Reid was someone else. We asked your friends, but they didn’t know much. They said you might have had a boyfriend who looks like him?” 

"No," Blaine tells him wearily. "I dated him, but he wasn't my boyfriend." 

“Can you tell me his name?” Morgan tests. Blaine shuts off immediately and shakes his head. “Well… what about Alex? Do you know anything about him?” 

“I’ve never seen…” Blaine starts, but shakes his head. “Actually, I did. He showed up at the dorms trying to deliver something, and he mixed my name up with Muslim Blaine.” 

“‘Muslim Blaine?’” Morgan asks. 

“Sorry, Blaine Bakir.” He flushes. 

This sounds even more like erotomania by the minute. Either this is the first face-to-face meeting that Blaine and Alex have had, or it’s only what Blaine remembers because their first meeting was even _less_ noteworthy than ‘delivery guy got the wrong person.’ 

“Hey, Agent Morgan? Just a minute.” Jameela tugs him back out and closes the door. “Did Simon tell you that Blaine’s not too comfortable with his body?” She asks. 

“What?” Morgan raises an eyebrow. “No, he just said there’s no signs of assault.” 

“Oh, he must have mistook it for nerves,” Jameela remarks. “But he’ll learn the difference in a couple more years.” 

“Blaine looks like the Statue of David,” Morgan points out. “Why would he be insecure?” 

“But that’s the _problem,_ ” Jameela explains. “Teens who look like models at Blaine’s age - some of them have a _horrible_ time growing up. It’s more common with girls because they’re more likely to attract creepy forty-year-olds, but it’s not fun for guys either. People can’t help treating them like adults, and just look at that boy and tell me you don’t -” 

“Oh,” Morgan realizes, with the list of Blaine’s unrequited loves flashing through his head. All but one are older than him. “I… I need to tell him something.” 

_His Highness needs a big flashing Jailbait sign before someone **else** tries to kidnap him,_ Garcia’s voice echoes in his head. 

Kurt is the only one who shares Blaine’s age, but even he doesn’t act like a teenager - he’s snarky and bitter, and with Blaine in the hospital, he must smile about once a week. 

“Blaine,” Morgan states. And he must know the look on Morgan’s face, because he goes white. “Blaine, I need to tell you -” 

“No.” It’s almost unheard, and razor-thin. 

“That guy you were with?” He forges ahead. “That guy who looks like Reid, the one who was probably Reid’s age when you were dating?” 

Oh god he’s right, Blaine’s eyes are wide and his hands are knotting up and that means Morgan’s _right -_

“It’s _not your fault_ for getting into something you couldn’t handle,” Morgan tells him. “It is never your fault, Blaine - you’re seventeen, man, you can’t beat yourself up over -” 

“Sixteen.” Blaine’s voice tiptoes over the blanket. 

“What?” Morgan stops. 

“I was sixteen. When I dated him.” He tilts his head up, eyes welling. 

_“What.”_ Morgan parrots. _No wonder the boys are so protective of him,_ he notes. 

“Thank you, Agent Morgan,” Blaine tells him with tense, shallow courtesy. “Can you leave, please? I don’t feel like I’m up to be questioned right now.” 

“Can I give you a hug first?” Morgan pleads. 

“Everyone _says_ that,” Blaine remarks helplessly, laughing and wiping his eyes. But he lets Morgan hug him, and presses hard into the agent’s shoulder.


	31. The Mayor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!

**_“You can’t squeeze blood out of a turnip, you know.”_ **

**_“I can,” the Mayor said. He scowled savagely and shook his fist at the giant outlaw. “And if you’re holding out on me,” he shouted, “if you’re feathering your pockets at my expense, I’ll squeeze you, my friend, I’ll squeeze you to pulp and peel and let the wind take you.”_ **

_Urgent care ward: $300_

True to the plan, Kurt’s shuttled between the Blue Sun hospital in Westerville and Lima General for the next few days: The main things he’ll need by now are X-rays and CAT scans (covered by the urgent-care ward), while follow-ups and prescriptions are at Lima (mostly external checkups and pain meds).

The bruising is already a flashing neon sign against his skin, but the swelling started the morning after he got home. He can’t swallow very easily, much less talk above a whisper, and he’s stuck with soup or other soft foods until it goes down. With that, Carole needs to reschedule the X-rays for Thursday.

And judging by how many tests he’s gone through, he’s dodged quite a few bullets with getting strangled.

“What exactly does eye-bleeding mean?” Kurt thinks aloud on Bad Movie Night with Tina and Mercedes, though reluctantly. “I’m all for not bleeding from strange orifices, but I still wonder.”

“Hmm...” Tina looks it up on her phone. After a moment of scrolling, everything in her twists up in the telltale ‘shouldn’t have done that’ cringe.

“What?” He tries to look, but she shuts her phone off and sticks it back in her pocket.

“Kurt,” she states. “We’re going to snark at _Twilight_. We’re also eating custard until we get diabetic, and we’re never talking about this again.” She shoves a plate of custard at him.

Mercedes and Kurt shoot a glance at each other before Mercedes attempts: “Is it really that -”

“NEVER. TALK. ABOUT THIS. AGAIN.”

* * *

 

_Set of X-rays: $400 (50% covered by insurance)_

_Total: $540_

Since he can’t sing, talk, or really do much of anything useful for school, Kurt just does his last two finals and takes the rest of the week off. On the Saturday before his X-ray, he mass-texts the Warblers for a meeting at the Lima Bean. Only about fifteen of them arrive, since several of them went on vacation with family.

“Hey guys, I have an appointment for Blue Sun tomorrow at 11AM. Anyone want me to crash at their place for lunch?” Kurt asks the three tables.

“I’m game,” Nathan says.

“I’m fine as long as you don’t mind one of my parents coming. They’re still not letting me drive alone,” Wes tells him, sighing.

“I would, but I live twenty minutes off on a good day,” Trent apologizes.

“PICK ME WE’RE DOING AWESOME STUFF,” Nick waves frantically, then coughs. “Shit, never mind! I forgot about the choked-out thing.”

Kurt laughs (carefully) at the explosion of voices - even for them, thirty seconds is unusually fast to solve a problem. He fiddles with his scarf - it’s a lot less painful to swallow or talk, but the swelling still has a habit of freaking people out.

“I live a few minutes from Blue Sun,” Jeff offers. “Justin interns there. Also, Nick? Inside voice,” he adds. Nick gives a resigned nod, to several smirks.

“Whiiiiiiipped,” David calls.

“Whapish!” “Daaaaaamn!” “Nick, I didn’t know you were into bondage!”

“I AM _NOT_ WHIPPED BY GOLDILOCKS!” Nick insists, which doesn’t help.

“Safe word!” Trent quips, to the nearest Warblers’ high-fives.

“FUCK YOU ALL!” Nick moves to a corner.

“Guys, I just made him stop!” Jeff huffs. “Now he’s going to yell _everything_ to prove he’s not whipped!”

“Totally worth it!” David answers.

Even after Nick stops using ‘cunt’ every sentence, the conversation’s devolved into some weird mixture of bondage, which thermos brands are the best, and the transgender front(wo)man of some punk band. In the wash of voices, Kurt texts Jeff: _And the winner is Jeff Woodrow! Picking me up at 9?_

 _No problem,_ Jeff answers.

* * *

 

_Pain medication (for 3-4 weeks): $40._

His pain meds arrive a day or two after his first visit to Blue Sun, and fortunately it’s when two other good things happen: 1) The swelling starts going down, and he no longer has to use scarves or high collars in summer. 2) Blaine is moved to outpatient status, even if he still can’t do anything strenuous.

Meaning anything that involves lifting, running, or heavy thinking. Which is everything besides taking out the garbage, _very_ short drives, and washing the dishes. Hanging out with Kurt is fine, though.

Unfortunately, the first time Blaine visits after the whole kidnapped-by-a-stalker ordeal is also when they find out a particular side effect of Kurt’s meds.

“Kurt?” Blaine shifts Kurt back upright. “You’ve been… _sitting_ here for the past five minutes. Are you okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” The world is shimmering, kind of like summer but without the heat or sweat. “I’m totally okay, Blaine. Everything’s okay.”

“You don’t _sound_ like -”

“Wait.” Nick’s grin goes from ear to ear as he checks Kurt’s face. “Guys! Kurt’s _wasted!_ Jeff, get my phone!”

“No way!” Puck needs to look for himself. “Shit, he _is!_ ”

“How did you figure it out, Boy Wonder?” Lauren asks.

“He was starting to nod off,” Nick says.

“What do you _do_ at Dalton?!” Artie bursts out laughing. “How can the dapper private-school kid instantly tell if someone’s high?”

“We don’t ask what Nick does in his spare time,” Wes tells them, disapproving. “Although considering what we found out at the station, we should check every one or two weeks -”

“Don’t act so high and mighty, Wes,” David chastises. “Remember when Lacey finally got you to smoke a blunt with us?”

“He was _gone!_ ” Trent tells the New Directions. “He said karaoke was the tradition of his ancestors and he tried to do half of Queen’s songs by himself!”

“Karaoke is Japanese! I’m Hawaiian and Filipino!” Wes stuffs himself farther back into the chair.

“Being Pinoy is like being _everything_!” Tina counters with a grin.

“Oh my god, he totally said that!” Trent high-fives her.

“Jeff, you recording?” Nick asks.  
  
“I am… now,” Jeff presses the button.

“Kurt Hummel is high off his painkillers!” Nick announces. “We’re going to see the horrible shit he laughs at!”

“Are you guys seriously filming him?” Blaine rubs his eyes.

“They don’t mean anything, honey,” Kurt assures him dreamily.

“See?” Nick points out. “When does Kurt _ever_ call anyone honey?!”

David scrambles between the table and the couch. “Kurt? Kurt, listen: T-shirts.”

He fights a giggle. “I don’t wear those. Except when I help Dad with the shop.”

Nick dodges the others on the way to Kurt with remarkable coordination. “Kurt! Serial killers!”

His face hurts from grinning, but he’s still a bit confused. The gentle rocking of the couch doesn’t help. “…Why?”

Tina joins in. “Kurt, listen: Scarves!”

“I don’t have to wear them anymore!” His laughter’s as much from relief as it is from the sudden hilarity of the word - it wraps around his ears like a cat. Scarrrrrrrves -

“He’s been saying ‘scarves’ for ages!” Trent high-fives Tina.

“You guys are horrible!” Blaine tells them, though everyone can hear laughter teetering at the edge of his throat. “Stop humiliating Kurt on film!”

“They’re not humiliating me, honey, they’re hilarious!” He tries to hug Blaine and nearly falls off the couch. “You’re soooooo nice,” he remarks as Blaine hauls him back up. “Okay, Blaine? I’m serious right now.” He struggles to piece the words together. “I… someone has to tell…”

“Don’t force it, dude,” Nick assures on the way to the kitchen.

“Yay!” He’s relieved, and the laughter bubbles out. “Honey, I need to tell people about the medication problem. Like - like parent-people, not the neighbors or -”

“Oh crap, we _should_ ,” Finn realizes, and he grabs his phone for a text. _Mom - Kurt accidentally got high off his meds. You and Burt should come home._

“You’re going to need this,” Nick returns with a glass.

“Oh my god Nick you’re so awesome.” The water gleams in droplets by the rim. Kurt turns it around, watching the light pour through it. “It’s the thing that used to be snow but it’s all runny!”

“Water, Kurt,” Blaine reminds him through his grin.

“He forgot the word ‘water!’ GONE, bitches!” Nick high-fives the others.

“You’re so nice, honey,” he sags in relief against Blaine’s shoulder. “Normally people laugh at me because they hate gay people.”

“Okay…?” Blaine tells him after a few perilous seconds of silence. “Careful!” He grabs Kurt’s wrist to keep the glass from tilting.

* * *

 

It’s almost like a light-switch when Kurt comes down. (Being shut in his closet is definitely helping the light metaphor.) He switches the lamp on and walks numbly to the steps, where Nick is waiting. “Nick, why was I literally in the closet?”

“Your trip went bad for the last hour,” he answers. “You needed some quiet.”

“And… no one thought to call the hospital?” Kurt winces as he opens the door – the light burns.

“Your dad did, it’s just that the doc told us to keep doing what we were doing,” Nick stretches. “Bad trips suck, but they don’t actually hurt. Nothing to do except wait them out.”

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Living room. YO!” Nick startles Kurt when he yells out the door. “Kurt’s down! You can take him to the hospital now!”

To her credit, Dr. Marsden only laughs for five minutes before tweaking Kurt’s prescription. “Wait till you’re back to normal before your next dose.”

* * *

 

“Nick?” Jeff asks on Tuesday after he gets in the passenger’s seat. Thanks to the eight hundred things that Nick didn’t tell the BAU, the Warblers have to come in _yet again_. “You okay? The whole thing last -”

“Yeah.” His tone is blankly polite as he starts the car. “I’m sorry for freaking out, man.”

“I know.” Jeff leans in with a squint. “Are you high? You sound like you’re coming down.”

“I wouldn’t drive to the _police station_ when I’m high, dude.” Nick scoffs. “I’d ask _you_ to drive.”

“Nick, showing up high to the police station isn’t a good idea,” Jeff points out. “Anyway -”

“I’m fine!” Nick insists. “I’m not mad or freaking out like Saturday, and I’m not getting high because of you, so that means I’m okay.”

Jeff sighs, but he lets Nick back out of the driveway.

* * *

 

Hotch is the one who questions Nick the second time, because it was last night over notes that the BAU realized Nick’s first session ended with his notorious coming-out story.

“We questioned _four_ people about that, and it took half an hour,” Rossi reminds them. “Nick himself only remembered a few details. And did you find out about Mystery Ex, Morgan?”

“He wasn’t Blaine’s boyfriend,” Morgan says. “Not for lack of trying, though. Blaine wouldn’t tell the guy’s name - must have been _bad_.”

Prentiss gives that pitying noise girls make - when they feel bad for someone but also think they were stupid. “I bet he slept with the guy. That happens a lot.”

Hotch might be questioning Nick himself, but the BAU isn’t leaving any chance of Nick being vague or leaving things out because “it’s not relevant to Blaine,” so they’re bringing everyone else in as well. Besides, at least one of the fifteen Warblers might know something else important about Nick.

Hotch starts when he and Nick are in the questioning room. “Nick, the guys mentioned your dad has a restraining order, and they didn’t know that you didn’t tell _us_ about it.”

“What does that have to do with Blaine?”

* * *

 

“Well, restraining orders are kind of important.” Sansa rests her head on the couch’s armrest. “Even if they’re not relevant.”

“Why?”

“They might have wanted to question your parents in case they knew something,” Sansa replies.

* * *

 

“What happened to get your parents divorced? Was he abusive?” Hotch asks.

“No, he just worked too much.” Nick answers. “He’s some government higher-up, and so he kept getting shipped off somewhere. He’d come home after a day, or two weeks, sometimes a month. Usually around a week. Mom hated it.”

“So why would you get a restraining order?” Hotch wonders.

“I just don’t want to bother with him,” Nick slumps. “At least for a few years. The official divorce was when I was eight, but he was in the government since I was, like four.”

“Did you miss him? Before or after the divorce?” Hotch asks.

“I don’t _remember_ him,” Nick tells him curtly. “Besides, I have Uncle Arthur for any fatherly… bonding… _masculine_ shit. Why would I want Dad to magically drop back into my life when there was never anything missing? I’m not _Blaine._ ”

* * *

 

“Well, sometimes you can resent someone _because_ they were never there,” Sansa points out, flicking a red curl off her shoulder. “A lot of people do.”

“I’m not bi because I have daddy issues!” Nick tells her. “I don’t have a dad to have issues _about!_ ”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” she apologizes, then takes a hard look at him. “Nick, are you high? You’re getting out of sorts.”

* * *

 

“Damn it, I cry _once_ in public and now everyone’s acting like I can’t deal with my shit!” Nick shoves himself further into the chair.

Hotch is a parent, and he can tell when a kid’s trying to distract an authority figure. But Jack isn’t a teenager yet (thank god), and Nick has no physical tells to prove if he’s nervous or covering something up. (Which might be because he’s high.)

So Hotch steps out to the waiting room for the Warblers who aren’t being questioned. “Hey guys? Can anyone come in here?”

Wes raises a hand. “Is Nick lying again?”

“He’s not _lying_ ,” Hotch feels he should say. “He’s just not answering me. I asked if he was… _feeling normal_ , and he said no.”

“Well, that’s _way_ too broad of a question,” Wes informs him amidst a weary gust of air from at least five Warblers.

“Nick, you dumbass!” “Seriously?” “We’re getting _jobs_ here at this rate!”

Wes sits down across the table from Nick. “Nick. Did you sober up from a mind-altering substance within the past two hours?”

“No,” Nick shoots back, glaring at Wes like he’s stupid.

“Are you planning on consuming a mind-altering substance within the next two hours, which is why you said you weren’t high because he never asked if you were _going to be_?”

“No!” He pushes his chair onto the back legs.

Wes needs to think for a bit. “Did you consume something that’s not technically mind-altering, but becomes so if you use it in a manner that it was not intended for?”

“Damn it, Wes - no!” He picks at his bag’s strap.

And Hotch is seriously wondering how Wes managed to come up with these questions (and why none of the Warblers are surprised that Hotch needed help), but Wes finishes it off: “Did you consume something that alters your mind but is slow-acting, which is why you said you weren’t high because you aren’t high _yet_?”

“Fuck.” Nick’s mouth twists. “I ate a quarter of a weed cookie and I have about an hour before it kicks in.”

* * *

 

“At least you told me,” Sansa rolls her neck and checks the living room clock. “Just warn me at five-thirty so I can head home. Are you going to be all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Gabe’s still in school, but Sarah’s here, so she and Jareth can keep an eye on me.”

“Seven help me, I don’t know whether to be relieved _or_ upset right now,” the therapist admits. “They’re used to their underage cousin doing weed?”

“Our family’s… _different_ ,” Nick admits. “Sarah’s mom ran off with some writer when she was in high school, and a couple years into university, there’s His Highness Jareth. And Jareth’s like, ten years older than Sarah, he’s got a weird eye from a fight he had once, and he’s the douchiest Brit ever, but somehow he actually cares about Sarah -”

“I resent that description,” Jareth sticks his head out of the kitchen door with a toss of his long blond hair. “ _‘Ten years older?’_ I’m twenty-seven and she’s twenty-three. Must you always think people past twenty-five are decrepit, Nicholas?” But when he spies Nick’s therapist, everything freezes. “Sansa Stark?”

“You are mistaken,” Sansa warns him, blue eyes turned to steel. “My last name is Tyrell now.”

“Ah, forgive me,” he says. “I’ve been living across the pond for a while, so I haven’t kept up with news back home. Congratulations on your marriage, Lady Tyrell. Wonderful family. Is Olenna still alive, perchance?”

“She is, Erlking, and she’s very much well.” She turns back to Nick, but her eyes track the blonde out through the living room.

Nick’s painfully aware of Sansa’s Wolf Mode, since he’s been on the receiving end more than he’d like. She wouldn’t do that just because someone didn’t know she was married.

Also, when did Sansa get married? He checks her left hand: No ring. Followers of the Seven use wedding rings for normal life - wedding-coats are too expensive for rain. Or snow. Or things you actually need a coat for. If you go Queen Cersei’s route and make it out of fucking silk and lace with diamonds on it, wedding-coats don’t even keep you warm.

Fuck, now he’s thinking about Young Queen Cersei. And Young King Robert. Why did Robert go Marlon Brando and gain twice his weight from all the hunting and partying and not-so-secret brothel runs? (And why would you _need_ hookers if you’re married to Cersei fucking Lannister?)

Man, Sansa’s maiden name was awesome. Sansa STARK. Like Iron Man. Why didn’t she keep it instead of becoming Sansa Normal-Ass Tyrell? It’s not even alliterated.

“Did Jareth call you a _lady_?” Nick blurts out.

“Don’t worry about the Erlking.” Sansa sinks her face in her hand.

He goes on in a slight daze: “Wait, how do you know him?”

“Did you eat the cookie earlier than you said?” Sansa asks, irritated. “Go get some water.”

“Don’t try that on him,” Jareth says with a laugh, suddenly back from the kitchen. “He’s deceptively high-functioning for a stoner.”

“Jareth, stop doing the magic teleporting!” Nick’s too startled to notice that Sansa’s barely budged.

“Nicholas,” Jareth begins, leaning in for emphasis. “Sansa’s your therapist. I’m your cousin’s fiancé. We happen to know each other. If anyone outside of a government official asks, say no more.”

“I’m not an idiot!” Sansa protests.

“No, but you _are_ too nice,” Jareth replies. “And the results are often _similar._ ”

Fuck, Wolf Sansa and His Majesty Jareth are staring at each other and it’s like a magnifying glass in the face! _Please God, make one of them stop!_ Nick prays, squirming, but neither of them give.

“I’m good. Mouth shut with non-government people,” he creaks out.

Sansa nods, but then thinks again. “Not even Jeff.”

* * *

 

“Oh, come on!” Nick pouts as Hotch cautions him. “I’m getting high in half an hour! Jeff wouldn’t _believe_ me!”

“Nick,” Hotch says. “If Sansa and Jareth are who I think they are, there’s probably a _reason_ that they’re living in a random Ohio town instead of wherever they were in Britain.”

“Can I at least tell Jeff that her maiden name is totally awesome -”

 _“No,”_ Hotch insists.

* * *

 

“What do you not understand about ‘tell no one who isn’t in the government?’” Sansa wonders, but shakes it off. “All right, thanks to the Erlking over here, I have to quit as your therapist.”

“What?!” Nick demands. “Jareth, did you dump Sansa in a text or something?!”

“Ew, _no!_ ” Sansa wrings her hands. “Look, Nick, I don’t want to risk getting you involved in something you can’t control, and if the Erlking is here… Anyway, you have my number. As of next Tuesday, you’re going to be a friend instead of one of my patients, so I’d still be visiting you, but you just wouldn’t be paying me. Right?”

“O… kay…?”

* * *

 

“And are you sure that’s it?” Hotch asks.

“Yeah.” Nick checks the clock. “I’m going to be high in like, ten minutes, but I promise I didn’t leave anything out on purpose.”

“Do you know why Sansa kept calling Jareth THE Erlking?” He checks his notes – even among Nick’s oddness, that detail stands out.

“I don’t know, Jareth’s weird.” Nick shrugs. “Erlking’s Germanic, that’s all I know.”

“Hmm. Well, you can leave now,” Hotch says. “Wait, did you mean German?”

“I meant GermanIC! The language group!” Nick snaps. “Everyone thinks I’m stupid either because I get high, or because I don’t think the way other people do.” He hefts his bag up.

“Okay, I made assumptions,” Hotch concedes. As Nick reaches the door, Hotch warns, “Don’t kick anyone else’s headlights out. Weed cookies are a _lot_ stronger than blunts.”

Nick flips him off, but his laugh gives him away before he shuts the door.

* * *

 

When he gets to the break room, Hotch sighs and puts his head on the table.

“I _said_ to bring someone with you for Nightwing,” Rossi warns with a grin. “That boy talks forever and a day.”

“No, it’s serious. His cousin is marrying the Erlking next February, and his therapist is Sansa Stark,” he says. “Tyrell,” he catches.

“Wait, fairytale Erlking or _Warlord of the British Underground_ Erlking?” JJ asks.

“Can you be an earl and a king at the same time?” Morgan wonders.

“It’s not a combination of titles - it’s an English adaption of the Germanic _Erlkonig,_ meaning ‘elf-king’ or ‘fairy-king,’” Reid clarifies. “It’s very ironic - the folkloric Erlking is known for killing a sick child, whether intentionally or not, but Jareth Erlking specializes in hostage situations, so he technically brings people _back_ home.”

“The Erlking hitting it off with an American girl is fine, but how does her cousin _happen_ to be getting therapy from Sansa Stark?” Prentiss asks. “Tyrell,” she corrects herself.

“Nick says Jareth and Sarah met at university,” Hotch says. “And Sansa’s not his therapist anymore. She and Jareth recognized each other during a home-therapy session for Nick, and she resigned immediately. Which was… well, last week.”

“Does this mean the Direwolves and the Erlking are planning something _together_?” Rossi demands.

“Time to warn Tom and Jerry.” JJ makes a note on her phone.

It’s hard to tell which metaphorical royal orchestrated this, but the more frightening option is that this _is_ a coincidence.

* * *

 

The Blue Sun Hospital is clean enough to sting her eyes, as most hospitals are, but at least Sansa’s not too late for her appointment.

“The new one’s waiting in your office,” says the secretary. “Was there traffic?”

“I wish,” she groans and types her name into the computer. “I got a call at five AM from my brother across the pond. Or it was five _here_ , at least. It was hard to tell with all the yelling, but I eventually found out that Robb got someone pregnant. By the time things calmed down, it was six-thirty and there was no point going back to sleep.”

The secretary shakes her head. “You guys are Seven followers, aren’t you?”

“British people don’t _all_ follow the Seven,” Sansa says with a groan. She has to redo her ID number--she must have missed a digit. “Most of the family follows the Old Gods. Anyway, the point is that Robb got someone pregnant who was _not_ his wife.”

* * *

 

 _“I swear, Roslin, we haven’t been in an actual relationship since we were eighteen!”_ Robb pleads. _“She must have been one of the girls at the bachelor party - not the stripper, I promise!”_

 _“Seven hells, this is the **only** situation where sleeping with a stripper would be better!”_ Roslin sobs.

There’s a clunk near the phone - Robb must have banged into something. (He has a habit of either trying to beat the problems out of his head, or trying to beat solutions _in._ ) _“Honey, I was drunk off my arse! Ask Jon and Theon! You can’t think Jeyne and I actually -”_

 _“Arya, stop laughing at your brother!”_ Cat warns in the background.

 _“Okay, okay! I’m done!”_ Arya quiets down. _“But why can’t What’s-Her-Face just get an abortion? It’s been two months, that’s fine.”_

 _“We can **tell** her to get an abortion, but are we going to **force** her into the doctor’s office?”_ Cat points out. _“Now go to your room! We need to sort things out!”_

 _“Sansa, help me! You’re good at helping!”_ Robb finally gets back to her. 

“What can I do from America?” Sansa wonders. “I can’t come back until Joffrey’s -”

 _“Oh, that fucker! Well…”_ Robb’s gears turn at light-speed. _“Loras or Margaery?”_

“I’ll text you their mobiles,” Sansa tells him wearily. “Good luck with knocking someone up.”

_“Thanks!”_

“What?” She’s confused at his sincerity.

 _“What?”_ Robb asks.

 “Oh!” Sansa bites her lip. “I didn’t mean ‘good luck talking to Loras or Marg.’ ‘Knocked up’ means getting someone pregnant in America.”

 _"Fuck!”_ Another thud - he’s probably banging his head again. _“I’ll tell them you said hi.”_

* * *

 

The secretary is horrified, but can’t fight the grin. “Is it okay if I tell someone, Sansa? This is soap-opera levels of drama!”

“Why not?” Sansa drones. “If I know Mum, she’ll be calling everyone and their mother for advice.” Success - the computer acknowledges that she’s here.

In her office is a boy with black curls and golden eyes, waiting very patiently. He’s reading an old leather-bound book: _Griffin-Slayer and Other Tales of Wonder._

“I hope I didn’t keep you too long,” Sansa apologizes as she sits and grabs a notebook. “I had family issues crop up at the _worst time_! So my name is Sansa, and you’re… Blaine Anderson?” She recalls from the computer.

“Yes.” He shakes her hand. “And no problem - it’s only been about ten minutes. I was more skimming than reading.”

“So Blaine, why are you here?”

“Um.” He’s not too comfortable, but most people aren’t when they first start therapy. “I… I had a concussion because my friends and I got kidnapped. By someone who turned out to be stalking me. And then he tried to strangle my b… my other friend.”

“Okay.” She writes it down, and swallows her own memories. “That’s _very_ stressful… Anything in particular you want to talk about?”

“I’m not sure.” He’s very quiet, but so was Sansa when she got away from Joffrey.

“Well, since you don’t know - where do you go to school?” Sansa begins.

“Dalton Academy. We got kidnapped on the last day for this year.”

“That’s convenient, I guess,” she admits. “You’ll be recovered when school starts, at least.” She writes it down, wondering who Blaine reminds her of. “What are your friend’s names?”

“Kurt was nearly strangled,” he says, “and David’s wrist got sprained before I ran off.”

“Did all of you get kidnapped?”

“Just me, Wes, and David,” he corrects feebly. “I’m sorry, it’s hard keeping things straight. I hit my head somewhere before I got kidnapped, then I ran off at some point, and… then I’m with Kurt? I thought Wes and David were dead.” He starts contracting into his chest. “The guy found us later, and I tried to - I wanted him to leave Kurt alone, but Kurt started yelling at him and he started _strangling_ Kurt -”

In the shivering light of the window, he’s crying in the wide-eyed way that numb people do. She wonders if he knows.

“I don’t know him!” He explodes, and Sansa’s concerned but not surprised. “I know he’s a delivery guy, his name’s Alex, but I don’t know who he _is!_ David told me he’s the same person who was following students on campus a while back, but he was actually following me. And once I could think straight again, I just - god, I’m so stupid!” He rises, but the struggle is more with himself.

“Hey. Calm down.” She stands up to guide him back to his chair - oh dear, she’s at least a hand taller than him. “Why do you think that?”

“Everyone _follows_ me!” Blaine tells her, laughing through tears. “Everyone falls in love with me because of something I did or said or just because I’m hot, and I take forever to notice because I’m _stupid!_ ”

She hands him a box of tissues. “You’re not stupid, Blaine, you’re seventeen.”

 _I’m a stupid little girl with stupid dreams who never learns,_ Sansa’s younger voice stings after Blaine’s echoes, and she pretends that she’s just noticed the title of his book: “Oh, Griffin-Slayer! I’m sorry, I haven’t read fairy-tales since I was ten.”

He manages into a feeble laugh, sheepish but genuine, and sticks it in his bag. “Neither have I.”

 _He believes me,_ Sansa notes with a sinking feeling, and turns the conversation to other things.


	32. Mabruk

**_His eyes met King Haggard’s hungry eyes, and he laughed like a goat._ **

**_“Haggard, I would not be you for all the world,” he declared. “You have let your doom in by the front door, though it will not depart that way.”_ **

* * *

 

Blaine’s getting a checkup after his first official week out of the hospital, and while Morgan is waiting outside, a man with deep brown hair and a worn mouth walks up to them. His shadow’s stretched thin in the light, and his tired pale face makes his sunglasses shriek blue.

“Jerry?” Morgan asks. “What are you doing here?”

“Hmm? Oh, I have that face everyone knows,” Jerry laughs and shakes his hand. His right eye - the one Simon can’t see - blinks twice. “My name’s Gregory Morgan.”

“My bad.” Morgan squints in pretense of taking a closer look, then returns the signal. “Small world - Derek Morgan.”

“Anyway, Dr. Tam, is Blaine done with his appointment?”

“Derek was just waiting to question him for the investigation, so it might be a few more minutes?” Simon checks with Morgan, who nods.

“He was waiting to _what_ for the _what?_ ” Jerry demands in surprise. "Sorry, I’m lost."

“It’s not because of anything Blaine did,” Morgan assures him. “It’s just that this case has been throwing people off. Staff and students have seen the guy before, but they don’t know anything about him.”

Jerry relaxes. “Well, that makes sense.” Two more blinks - they’re good.

“Are you related to Blaine?” Morgan wonders. “You don’t look much alike.”

“No, I’m his family’s house manager.” So he heads for a chair in the lobby.

“Blaine, your manager came to pick you up,” Morgan says after a couple of knocks. “Are both your parents busy?”

“They got the first few days off, but… yeah.” Once his jacket’s back on, he digs his chin into his chest. “Mom still asks me how I’m doing five times a day, but I can do normal house chores again, so that’s progress.”

“Well, you know why I’m here.” He sits down. “Anything you managed to dig up about Alex the delivery guy?”

“I don’t _know_ him,” Blaine tells him, weary. “I barely even know about getting kidnapped, it’s just – I’m in Dalton’s parking lot and then stuff happens for a few hours, and suddenly we’re in some guy’s basement. And Wes and David said the past few hours weren’t real. Which is a problem, because I remember more of that than what actually happened. I’m sorry.”

“What happened in your head? Maybe you got the real world and your concussion-world mixed up,” Morgan suggests, but Blaine shakes his head.

“It didn’t. Last day of school, yay - everyone’s happy. I went home, then I visited Kurt later on,” he says. “And then I woke up. Or… regained consciousness, technically.”

For someone so nice, Blaine has a really strong knack for shutting things down. It’s not his fault that he doesn’t remember most of his kidnapping, but… Morgan gives him a pat on the shoulder. “If you remember anything later or just need help, you know my cell.”

Simon Tam is waiting outside. “- but most of that goes under therapy and not medical care proper, so you’ll have to check with the psych department.”

“Lovely,” Jerry says. “More therapy.”

“Also, you two need to work on body language during your coded messages,” the doctor adds. “I don’t know how you two know each other, but complete strangers don’t hold eye contact _nearly_ as long as you guys did.”

“…Thanks for the advice, doc,” Morgan says.

“Well, fuck.” Jerry realizes.

“Greg! Did you just _swear_?” Blaine jokes as he comes out.

“You’re lucky to have obscenely rich parents,” Jerry tells him. “Even with insurance, this sounds as steep as Everest.”

“Pfft.” Blaine shakes his head.

* * *

 

So with Blaine being an unintentional dead end, they head for the other three boys: Wes, David, and Kurt.

“ _David_ got in a fight with Stalker Guy,” Wes tells JJ disapprovingly as he and David sit in the questioning room.

“Yeah, that’s stuff we already know,” she checks with her notes. “David and Alex fought for a minute, Blaine got into things -”

“Because he’s got a fucking Napoleon complex!” David adds.

“And then Blaine hit his head and went out of it for a while,” JJ finishes. “So why exactly did you start the fight, David?”

“Stalker going after my friend!” David tells them.

“But he wasn’t being _violent,_ he was just confusing Blaine with how he already knew all our names and basic interests,” Wes argues. “Creepy, yes. But it was ‘remove ourselves from one of our YouTube stalkers’ creepy, not ‘punch him out to defend Blaine’s honor’ creepy.”

“That escalated quickly,” Morgan can’t help stating.

“I _told_ you - don’t hit first!” Wes reminds David. “Remember what happened with the fencing club!”

“Why would you have a don’t-hit-first rule?” Morgan asks.

“Because some fucker with a pointy stick thinks he’s better than us!” David insists.

* * *

 

“Sorry it’s been so long since I first got questioned,” Kurt says to Hotch. “Getting strangled is a lot harder to recover from than it is in the movies.”

“No problem, these cases are pretty messy,” Hotch answers. “We have the general idea of things, but I’m still wondering about how you guys ended up in an old hotel while your stepbrother ended up in your car’s trunk.”

“Everything went a little crazy,” Kurt says. “Blaine started yelling about Wes and David getting in trouble, at least that’s the coherent part. And he pretty much dragged me away from Stalker Guy -”

“Kurt, his name is Alex,” Hotch reminds.

“Sorry,” Kurt laughs, but he’s tense. “I’ve been hanging out too much with the Warblers. They don’t call him by his name, have you noticed?”

“Well, he kidnapped three of your friends and tried to strangle you,” Hotch says. “That sounds like no-name status to me.”

“What exactly does he know about me?” Kurt wonders. “I know he wants to hook up with my boyfriend, but when he found us, I lost it and yelled at him that this whole mess was his fault. And all he said to that was… ‘No, it’s yours.’”

“How did Blaine take seeing his boyfriend get strangled?” Hotch asks, more for confirming records than from actually needing to know.

“Pretty well,” Kurt deadpans. “He was trying to get Alex to stop, obviously, but the details were a little… _off._ When Alex was trying to get through the door, Blaine was actually trying to let him in because -”

“He what?!”

“He literally didn’t know what he was doing!” Kurt reminds him. “He could barely remember that we put a desk against the door, and he was asking if he was awake nonstop. He thought I was going to die if he went to sleep. And then Alex found us, so Blaine panicked and tried to talk to him or… something.”

“What was he saying before you got strangled?”

“Hmm.” Kurt’s lips thin in concentration. “He didn’t want Alex to get mad, which is a sentiment that transcends being hit on the head, and… I’m pretty sure he thought Alex was going to kill me. ‘Please don’t hurt him, I’ll stop running if you don’t make me go to sleep.’ That sort of thing. Some good that did, though,” he admits. “I really shouldn’t have yelled at Alex, but being stuck in a room for hours with my not-so-coherent boyfriend - what?” He stops at the look on Hotch’s face.

“He was trying to save you,” Hotch realizes.

* * *

 

Nick’s adjusted to his lack of official therapy pretty well, but Sansa’s discouraged that she no longer has the authority to nudge her former client into something more age-appropriate than clubbing. Or the activities that said clubbing entails.

Well, she can talk to him, but it’s more fun with drinks. (It’s better to have a few drinks with her at home, instead of in a club.)

“When I was seventeen, I was made fun of for being tall and ginger. And I couldn’t get enough lemon-cake,” she recalls. “Of course, two years later I find my sister and her boyfriend completely smashed in one of Winterfell’s older wings, and apparently they’ve been drinking since she was sixteen.” And having sex for about as long, but she’d _really_ like to forget that part.

“ _Ginger?_ God.” He takes a swig from his bottle. “I know it means redhead, but ginger’s fucking _yellow_. _Jeff_ should be called a ginger ‘cause he’s blonde.”

She takes a last sip of her second beer and starts working on a glass of water. “Oh, what were we talking about?”

It takes Nick a moment to remember, too.

“Clubs!” He finally says. “And you don’t like me going to them! But yeah, I was at Scandals on Wednesday because they have a David Bowie Night every month -”

Sansa bangs her head on the back of the couch.

“- and I will fucking _kill_ for free margaritas, so I showed up in costume. I bet their salt is actually coke, because there’s no other way they can be that addicting,” he mused.

“Were you Young Bowie or Old Bowie?” She wonders, but shakes her head. “Never mind, don’t tell me!”

“Aww, but I had glitter!” He pops the cap off another bottle. “Anyway, one free margarita and two or three paid drinks later, I run into this hot British guy and his hot British boyfriend. They were kind of buzzkills,” Nick admitted, flipping the cap like it’s a coin. “Nice buzzkills, but I can only hear ‘what are you doing in a gay bar? You’re not twenty-one!’ so many times.”

“Poor you,” she teases, fiddling with a loose thread on the couch. “Running into decent people who don’t like teens gallivanting in bars.”

“I got their numbers for platonic reasons - English numbers are weird, you know?” He gets distracted. “I mean -”

“Yes, Nick, they are,” she agrees, mostly to keep the story going.

“So Blondie’s name is Loren… Logan…? Fuck, it might be Morris - I spilled some stuff on the first half of the note,” Nick apologizes.

“Loras?” She suggests with a giggle, but chokes at his answer.

“Oh, yeah! Old-fashioned prep-school name!” He nods after a gulp of beer. “God, it’s like ‘Blaine Anderson.’ Loras Tyrell, the Five-Millionth of his Name -”

_“Loras Tyrell?!”_

“Do you know him?” Nick’s forehead creases.

 _“Loras is my husband.”_ She can’t feel her face right now, but she at least knows that her jaw’s on the floor.

Nick goes waxy, and in his surprise he accidentally sloshes a bit of Sansa’s water onto the table. “Oh my god, Sansa! I’m so sorry for outing your husband and I swear I never met him before -”

“What? No! Nick, I know he’s gay!” She assures him. “You’re fine!”

He almost manages to talk, but it comes out as a questioning slur.

“It’s complicated,” she says, “but he’s a very good friend and we needed to get married two years ago, for reasons out of our control.”

“Did you get _pregnant_?!” Gods help her, she can see his brain shorting out.

“No!” But she remembers the first three or four months were filled with white-blank terror that she might be. “I’d rather not tell the story while we’re buzzed, though.”

Nick says, still chalky: “Should I… go or something?”

“Sure,” she says in relief. “Do you need a ride?”

“No, I’ll call one of the guys.” He squints and measures something by her ear. “Okay, you both are delicate flower-people in the looks department, but Loras is average height and you’re like a statue, so it’s weird. Renly’s built like Hercules, he’d look way better in photos.”

“Thanks?” She declines to mention that she had a crush on Renly when she was twelve and he was sixteen for exactly that reason.

“I just have this thing about tall people matching,” he says, while he sends a text.

Once Nick leaves with a slurry goodbye, Sansa gets her phone. “Loras?”

 _“My lady,”_ he greets her, and she can hear his grin.

“I hear _someone_ came to America two weeks early,” she sings.

 _“Oh, there goes the surprise!”_ He groans. _“How’d you find out?”_

“A - a bird told me,” she falls back on the cliché, and he chuckles. “Is it just you and Renly?”

_“Nope. Marg, Brienne, and Arya are here, too.”_

“Good gods, that’s half our families,” Sansa remarks, though it makes her wonder if Jareth had anything to do with it.

_“You jest, my lady! Now that Robb’s married a Frey girl, you’re related to half of Britain!”_

It gets a laugh out of her, and in the space of comforting small-talk, Sansa remembers that Nick’s choir is called the Warblers.

And they _are_ birds, after all.


	33. The Migard Serpent

**_But he had judged them too easily. They applauded his rings and scarves, his ears full of goldfish and aces, with a proper politeness but without wonder. Offering no true magic, he drew no magic back from them._ **

Alex is visited by a red-haired man one evening. He’s polite and unobtrusive enough that the BAU don’t pay him much mind. Alex himself seems to be stuck on the imaginary love-triangle between him, Kurt, and Blaine - so much that they wonder if someone put it in his head, or encouraged a less-creepy version of it into full-blown obsession.

“But he doesn’t think they’re in a _love-triangle_ , per se,” Reid corrects them. “He thinks that Kurt and Blaine are inevitably going to break up, thus leaving Blaine open to Alex’s romantic pursuit.”

“So he _wants_ to be Blaine’s rebound guy?” Prentiss says.

“Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s not the _best_ thing to be in a rebound relationship,” Morgan says. “Breakups get rough, so most people who start dating right after a breakup aren’t using their best judgment. And Blaine’s _normal_ judgment is…” He searches for a word, but comes up empty.

“Indeed,” Rossi says with a smile.

“I’m just wondering, why Blaine?” JJ wonders. “Aside from the obvious wealth, sweetness, and good looks, Blaine is kind of repressed. Kurt is much more theatrical, so if anything, I’d have expected Alex to go after Kurt.”

“He might want to change Blaine into a more confident person through the strength of his hypothetical love,” Prentiss says. “Gender aside, Blaine could fill in for a lot of romance novel heroines who go on autopilot until they meet the man who changes everything. Aka Alex.”

“Sounds like he’s focused on the _idea_ of Blaine,” Morgan says. “The idea of Blaine is pretty simple, but the actual Blaine is a person who’s emotionally damaged and happens to have a squad of really protective friends.”

“Who _also_ think in romance novels,” JJ adds with amusement. “According to them, Klaine -”

“Couple nickname,” Morgan tells Reid when he opens his mouth.

“- are a Lifetime couple.”

“Oh, come on!” Nick is led in by a reluctant police officer. Jeff trails along with his face in his hand. “Mrs. Redding, you’re subscribed to the Warblers’ non-official YouTube channel! You always give our party clips a thumbs-up! And why are you arresting me? Eating in Jeff’s parked car? Oh, that’s _totally_ dangerous!”

“Nick, videos are one thing and those can technically be passed off as ‘kids being stupid.’ Being high in public is a misdemeanor,” says the policewoman. “Also, it’s officer right now.”

Jeff refuses to take his hand away from his forehead. “The one time you don’t warn me you’re fucking high, I get stopped because one of my tail-lights are out!”

“I didn’t smoke anything, though!”

“But you were still high,” Officer Redding points out.

“Shit.” Nick sighs and grabs his phone. “Time to pay the fine. Hey, Aunt Bea? Could you drop by the - yeah.”

Pause. “No, it’s just pot.”

Another pause, and he reddens. “I’m not in Canada! We didn’t even get that far in, just to -”

Morgan strains to keep quiet. “There are too many questions about him.”

“Nick?” The man talking to Alex has finished, and in the hallway he stares at the three arrivals.

“Don’t talk to me,” Nick answers, which worries the BAU more than if they were strangers. “Not you, Aunt Bea - so fifteen minutes? Cool. Sorry about the fine.” He hangs up.

Since they’re together, the BAU can see through the window: Through their vastly different clothes and hair, Nick and the redhead have the same thick neck and squared chin. They’re within inches of the same height, too, and the way their hands show tension - one fidgeting, the other drumming his fingers - are tangents of the same motion.

The red-haired man sighs and writes out a question on a piece of paper, which Nick chuckles at before answering. Then he takes out some folded blue paper, deliberate and careful, like they’ve done this before.

The man doesn’t have to read it, pocketing it right away, and he scrawls his answer on a matching blue notepad before he tears it out for Nick, who settles down in one of the chairs.

Since they can’t talk, the man heads out, but he stares at Nick on the way to the door, and Hotch knows that particular brand of longing. He’s creeping ever closer to it himself with Jack - the reluctant knowledge of being not-needed anymore (but Jack isn’t smoking pot until he’s in college).

He can’t help feeling they’ve stumbled onto something, but he’s not sure what it is.

As he steps out, he asks: “Nick, who was that?”

“My dad. No history or anything, I just don’t want to talk to him.” A kick or two at the air until Nick realizes: “Why was he here? At least _I_ got caught being high.”

“He was talking to someone,” Hotch says.

“Oh. Government stuff, then.” 

* * *

 

Blaine’s in the kitchen with Greg, holding the flashlight as Greg checks the sink for the cause of the leak. The manager’s phone vibrates on the table. “Who’s it from?” Greg asks as Blaine goes to check it.

“It’s... the dean?” Blaine reads ‘Roger Dunham’ on the caller ID as he brings it over. “Why is he calling you?”

“Hopefully to get some coffee and catch up on the last ten years, but most likely something about your kidnapping.” Greg answers it while he heads to the living room. “Blaine, it doesn’t look like a bad leak, so just put a bucket under it until someone calls the plumber.”

“Got it.”

The door shuts behind him and he takes a seat on the couch. “What’s up?”

_“A griffin has two hearts,”_ answers the dean, and he sighs.

“That’s not good.” He shoves the ottoman around with one leg. “What’s the news?”

“Spyke was at the police station,” Tom says. “I don’t know why, but he was talking to Alex.”

“What?!” The ottoman falls over. “Kidnapping’s not his M.O.! Does that mean Blaine’s -”

_“No,”_ Tom assures. _“Alex himself hasn’t mentioned anything about partners, and the only thing I saw today is that he was at the police station talking legal issues with Blaine’s stalker. Spyke’s... most likely... **not** planning anything.” _ Beat. _“Yet.”_

“What the hell do I do?” He stares at the door to the kitchen and wills it not to open. Unfortunately it’s the front door - Kyle comes in, waving as he notices Greg’s on the phone. “I’m not on the investigation anymore!”

_“Just watch Blaine,”_ is all Tom can say for now. _“And the Warblers.”_

“The Warblers are watching Blaine,” Greg laughs despite his concern. “We’re good.”


	34. The Spider

**_But it drew the onlookers’ eyes - and the unicorn’s eyes as well - back and forth and steadily deeper, until they seemed to be looking down into great rifts of the world, black fissures that widened remorselessly and yet would not fall into pieces so long as Arachne’s web held the world together._ **

The BAU is confused about why Nick’s father just happened to be talking to Alex, but the knowledge grinds at Hotch’s mind in particular. “Do we have records on his father? Nick says he’s a government agent, but he hasn’t lived with his father for years. It would be easy for an eight-year-old to misunderstand something about his parents’ job, especially during a divorce.”

“Are you projecting your feelings about Jack on Nick, Hotch?” JJ asks him kindly.

“I’m surprised _any_ of them are this well-adjusted,” Prentiss says. “Crazy parties, that’s one thing, but kids who can hotwire cars and tamper with security cameras don’t usually serenade people with pop songs.”

“We could say the exact same thing for New Directions,” Rossi tells them. “It’s probably better that the Warblers tape their friends to keep track of bets instead of doing something illegal.”

“Like taping their friends.” Morgan points out.

“Something illegal with malicious intent,” he corrects.

Hotch just calls up Garcia. “Garcia, can you get records on Tori Grayson?”

* * *

 

Nick’s at the Woodrow house again on the way to the hospital. Thankfully he’s not high or drunk, and the only thing wrong is that he has cat scratches on his shoulder. “Ow.”

“Nick, hold still,” Sarah tells him. “If you had to get hurt, why couldn’t it be in a spot that’s easier to bandage?”

“Because _nrrrrgh -”_

“Damn it - Jeff, hold him still! He keeps moving his arm!”

Jeff has to maneuver onto the couch for a weird not-quite-hug so he can pin Nick’s arm while still letting Sarah get to the injuries. There’s a sweet-tart stickiness overpowering Nick’s normal soap. “Why do you smell like a girl?”

_“I fell,”_ Nick admits grudgingly. He tenses as Sarah starts the wrapping again, but he can’t move too far with Jeff locking him down.

“Were you sitting on the laundromat tables?” Jeff sighs. “That’s why you’re not supposed -”

“I was at this hot cheerleader’s house and we were doing the sexy desk thing until her stupid cat got in!” Nick spills, face red as Sarah laughs. “So I’m going, _no, dude,_ give me ten more minutes and _then_ you can use me as a throne, but he started kneading my shoulder and I fell because _cat claws hurt!_ So I had to go back home in morning traffic, and now Sarah’s taking me in for a tetanus shot.”

And that explains the girl-smell. Jeff also realizes that Nick’s skin is warm - as in, “just attempted sex” warm. Oh god, there’s no way Sarah doesn’t know this. “You’re an idiot, man.”

Sarah finishes laughing and pats the medical tape into place. “Thanks for restraining him, Jeff.” She leaves to start the car.

“Does What’s-Her-Name _marinate_ in perfume?” Jeff coughs to get the tingle out.

“She smells nice,” Nick argues.

“If you’re distracted by having sex, maybe, but this is like the girl’s version of Axe. God, it’s like that one dude who _actually_ wore Axe and you smelled like it for two days.”

“Oh my god, someone’s _jealous._ ” Nick sings at him.

“What are you talking about?” He puts his feet up on the ottoman.

“Every time you complain about me smelling like someone I had sex with, it’s because _you_ aren’t getting any!” Nick points out, grinning.

“You’ve managed to have sex every week now that summer’s here,” Jeff points out. “It’s hard to have _more_ sex than you.”

_“Exactly.”_ And he saunters out with his jacket draped on his shoulder.

Jeff wonders when he stopped feeling awkward about Shirtless Nick’s frequent appearances at weird hours.

And when people stopped asking about Shirtless Nick.

And why he’s not bothered by the nagging image of Shirtless Nick on a desk -

The front door opens again. “I think I left my shirt at her place,” Nick says sheepishly.

Jeff rolls his eyes, ducks into his room, and tosses one of his shirts at him.

“Thank you!” He gives Jeff a one-armed hug.

* * *

 

“And done.” Simon Tam sticks a band-aid on Nick’s uninjured shoulder. He can’t help asking about the weird location of the scratches: Nick’s reluctant silence has to mean a good story. “Cats are pretty devious, but the shoulder?”

“I was having sex with a cheerleader and her cat got in,” Nick seethes.

Wash cheers and claps Nick’s good shoulder. “It’s not fun-time if you don’t go to the hospital now and then! Two years back, me and Zoe -”

“Don’t corrupt my cousin’s innocence, sir,” Sarah fights to keep a straight face.

“Ma’am, the staff calls him Nightwing. There is no innocence in the Bat-Family,” Wash jokes.

Nick groans and stuffs his fingers in his ears. “Can I just never talk about this again?”

* * *

 

 

They haven’t sat down and read aloud again yet, but Blaine and Luke Anderson find themselves spilling half-remembered quotes at whatever triggers them. The book travels with whoever’s in the house, from library to second floor to Blaine’s theater.

Today the Warblers and Kurt all come in for movies, reminding Blaine of the troops that were sent on the prince’s quest.

_“‘Five and forty men-at-arms, picked from - all picked by my…’_ crap.” On the way to the DVDs, Blaine grabs the book. _“‘Five and twenty men at arms, all to see you through.’”_

_“Griffin Slayer?”_ David notices. “Why am I not surprised that Sir Blaine reads fairy-tales?”

“No, it’s… memory exercises.” Blaine leaves out the fact that his actual memory exercises are a lot more boring and he does them at the hospital with Dr. Tam once or twice a week.

“Ooh, I haven’t read that in ages!” Kurt reaches for it, but Blaine suddenly remembers that his eight-year-old self isn’t the best artist and backs up to the wall. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s got drawings all over it from when I was eight!” He presses it somewhere on his back, shying away from Kurt’s hands.

“That’s so cute!” Kurt beams, distracted.

“No, it’s not!” He insists, but now he’s torn between letting Kurt see and buying a safe to lock the book in. “Believe me, Kurt, I have mediocre art skills right now, so when I was eight -”

No sell - if anything, Kurt’s trying _harder_ to get the book. So Blaine unlocks one of the DVD drawers in the wall and throws it in. Kurt eyes the drawer with intent gray-green eyes.

“Jeff.” Nick’s smirking. The blonde grins back and fist-bumps him.

They don’t say anything else to build on that word, not even by going into a hallway to talk by themselves, which is a very bad omen for Blaine.

* * *

 

 

“- and somehow they found a spare theater key, got the book, and sent pictures of my childhood doodles to the Warbler’s texting group,” Blaine tells Sansa, muffled by his backpack.

Sansa’s shaking from the effort of restraint. “Did Kurt think they were cute, though?”

“Yeah.”

“Yay, I don’t feel bad!” And she laughs till she cries.

* * *

 

As Luke’s washing dishes, the soap bubbles catch the light and remind him of eight-year-old Blaine’s version of hair. _“‘O my boy,’ said the king, ‘Young men see glory in fighting the children of the sun, but old men see red wings and sharp beaks.’”_

Blaine stops in surprise. _“‘I see no glory, O my father, only a task that must be done. They are our people, and they are afraid.’”_

Luke has to smile at their shared absurdity - thank god nobody else is here.

* * *

 

“He read you the _sad_ version?!” Sansa gapes.

“But he _does_ defeat the griffin in the end,” Blaine says.

“It still has the child-eating and how the men in the king’s family all died!”

“To be fair, I didn’t get the first part until I was thirteen.” Blaine twists his hands in embarrassment. “I just figured the griffin left them in the forest. Still bad, but not _visceral_ bad like getting eaten.”

“My dad lived through Robert’s Rebellion,” Sansa says without thinking. “His siblings and my grandfather got caught in King’s Landing when Aerys was -” She catches herself and stops. _I’m not at a café,_ she reminds herself, but the blood’s already drained from Blaine’s face.

“Oh.” Yep, there’s the horrified look people get when they hear. “Sansa, that’s awful.”

“Don’t worry, it’s an old part of family history,” She says, and means it: She only remembers her aunt and uncle from pictures, from Uncle Robert, and how Dad looked at Arya when she was fencing. _Get the focus back to Blaine,_ she thinks, and goes on: “Is it just _Griffin Slayer_ you guys keep going back to, or do you read the other stories?”

“Mostly Griffin Slayer.”

“Why?” She knows the answer, but Blaine probably needs to hear it himself.

“I said that already - he read it when I was little.” He thinks, and traces a figure on the chair’s arm. “Do you mean… symbolism or something?”

“Not necessarily.” Well, here’s a good place to intentionally talk about herself. _Just remember to keep your feelings in check,_ Sansa thinks. “I remember in high school when Dad got me a doll because ‘Sansa, you love dolls!’ So I told him, ‘Dad, I haven’t played with dolls since I was eight!’ But yeah, two weeks later my sister’s dog got into my room.”

* * *

 

_“Arya! Nymeria’s on my bed!” She tugs Nymeria’s front paws, but it just gets Sansa a few licks. Yellow yarn flickers near the husky’s mouth and Sansa’s stomach lurches. “Oh gods, she has Greta! Bad dog!”_

_“Nymeria, down!” Arya commands. No response from the husky, unless rolling onto her side counts. So Arya sighs. “Sansa, kick her nads - she won’t move till Thursday.”_

_“What?!”_

_“Not a HARD kick, just enough to sting a bit!” Arya ruffles Lady’s fur and happily accepts placid dog-kisses on her cheek. “Oh, who’s a good -”_

_“I’m not kicking your dog!” Sansa heaves again at Nymeria, to her sister’s amusement._

_“You weigh fifty kilos, Sansa! Just kick her a bit in the nads, I swear it’s -”_

_“Dogs! Come!” Ned whistles at the door, and the rattle of a treat box sounds. Nymeria drops the doll with a pound of claws onto the floor, and both dogs bolt over to the Stark patriarch._

_Sansa grabs Greta and turns her over - no serious scratches. But the dog slobber needs washing off, so she heads to the bathroom. “Ewewewewew - thanks, Dad!”_

_“No worries, love,” he tells her, grey eyes smiling as he notes the doll._

* * *

 

“Please tell me she wasn’t serious!” Blaine pleads through his laughter.

“She was!”

“Oh my god!” Blaine’s almost falling out of his chair.

“So why do you still know _Griffin Slayer_?” Sansa asks after they stop laughing. “You didn’t remember the book when your dad brought it to the hospital.”

“But I still knew it,” Blaine says. “After I came out, a little before Sadie Hawkins happened, I… sometimes at night, I’d just…”

She waits in case he’s trying to finish his sentence. After a while, though, the words slip through Sansa’s mouth without warning: _“The king said bitterly, ‘O my son, you speak as my friends and brothers did. Can I not make you stay?’”_

They don’t say anything for a long time.

_“‘Do not weep so, Father,’ he said,”_ Blaine continues at last, fragile and crackling like frost. His eyes are spilling over. _“‘For I will come back to you…’”_

Sansa realizes something’s off and checks the time - they’re running a bit late. “Blaine, we have to finish for today.”

_“‘For I will come back to you -’”_ Blaine repeats, desolate as he hunts his memory.

“We’re done,” she says, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “I’ll - here’s an appointment card.” She grabs one from the stack and scribbles a date in for next week.

_“‘I-I will come back to you -’”_

_“‘- with the griffin’s head on my saddle,’”_ Sansa finishes for him. Her face is hot and bitter. “Here we are, I’ll see you next week.”

“What happened to you?” Blaine asks, sudden and instinctive, and Sansa’s eyes widen.

**_Joffrey happened,_** comes that hard voice from the back of her skull. She clenches her teeth and shakes her head. “I can’t tell you, Blaine - it’s your therapy session.”

She doesn’t want to, either.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… you had that look on your face.”

And there’s dread and longing surging into her chest, but she’s not sure which she feels more. “Don’t worry about me. You’re my patient. Okay?”

So she gives him a hug and feels the weight of his arms around her, and she prays to all seven gods that Blaine has a slightly older doppelganger somewhere in the world. One who didn’t get crushed by everything and needs her help with therapy, and isn’t gay or taken (or both).

She knows there are straight men who are honest and compassionate - her family has scads of them. But dating-wise, straight men with morals just… aren’t in her life right now.

Sansa can feel the warmth of Blaine’s temple by her cheek.

She has to let go, or she’ll stop working with another patient for moral issues and then go to their house every week to make sure they don’t overdose or catch an STI. As a friend. _Jareth was right,_ she notes glumly. _I **am** too nice._

So they finally let go of each other, forcing out a reluctant goodbye each. After she watches him close the door, she sneaks a few tissues out from the desk.


	35. Cerberus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the wait! I was planning on uploading this in mid/late June, but I forgot I had my first professional theater performance then and I was SO BEAT. Then when I got some energy back, I was aiming for early July, but my dog suddenly couldn't use her back legs on Tuesday. We tried giving her medication to see if it helped, but she had to be put to sleep two days later.

**_Then, as though her eyes were getting used to darkness, the unicorn began to perceive a second figure in the cage. They loomed hugely over the captives of the Midnight Carnival, and yet they were joined to them: stormy dreams sprung from a grain of truth._**

* * *

 

In the waiting room for Blue Sun, there’s Blaine Anderson for his checkup. Simon runs through the tests with him as easily as if he’s playing a game with River, and he’s not sure how he’s going to feel when their local prince gets better and doesn’t have to come here anymore. (The nurses are conflicted at hoping he stays in therapy.)

Derek Morgan sticks his head in the door. “Dr. Tam? Did someone - whoops, sorry. The nurse said you were done.”

“Don’t worry, we’re almost done. Just go to my office.” Simon looks at the list on his clipboard. “So, what are the words, Blaine?"

“Catnip, regular, drive-through, consumption, and waterfowl.” 

Simon writes it down on his records and hands him the second sheet of paper. “Next list - you have a couple minutes.” And he steps into his office. “What were you asking, Agent Morgan?”

“Did you know anyone called Tori Grayson?" 

“Oh, redhead Tori?” Simon asks, and Morgan nods in the tight way of uncertainty. “He’s one of the lawyers, why?”

“That’s… interesting.” Morgan can’t help looking at the door to Blaine’s room. “He was visiting Alex, and according to what his son Nick said about him, he’s _supposed_ to be a government agent. Nick was eight when his parents divorced, but if he remembers right…”

“That _is_ a strange career path.” Simon agrees. “Why are you asking me?”

“We think Tori and Alex might be in league,” Morgan says. “Alex has built this massive love story in his head about him and Blaine. Even if he has a mental disorder like erotomania to explain away everything as some secret relationship, this long-term planning is very uncommon for garden-variety stalkers. He might have been enabled by a third party somehow, and that’s at least two or three crimes right there.”

“Why do you think it’s Tori Grayson?”

“Alex knows _way_ too much about Blaine,” Morgan says. “He’s been stalking Blaine for weeks if not months and the Dalton staff only found out when his friends noticed patterns. He recognized Blaine’s house manager, and he knows which dorm Blaine sleeps in. Most people can’t do that without some kind of help.”

“And since Tori’s son is one of Blaine’s friends - would Nick have unknowingly given Alex that kind of information?” Oh, he’ll need something _extremely_ alcoholic once his shift is over.

“Nick has a restraining order on his father,” Morgan says. “We don’t think he’d have contacted him frequently enough for that.”

“He has a what?!”

“I know,” Morgan admits.

Apart from the looming suspicion that therapy’s going to see a lot more of two certain Warblers in the foreseeable future, Simon’s quite relieved.

Blaine only gets one word out of the next set wrong.

“Your short-term memory’s been normal for a week,” Simon congratulates him. “Two more weeks and we can officially say you have no lasting brain damage.”

“Awesome!” He leaves, waving to Morgan on the way to the stairs.

* * *

 

In Sansa's office, she sits across from Prentiss. "He doesn't remember anything we don't know already," she sighs. "In fact, he remembers _less._ And he can't make sense out of some bits. There's how Kurt… was a unicorn?" she squints at her notes. "Yeah, that's not very useful." 

"Have I heard your name somewhere, Mrs. Tyrell? I'm sorry, it's just-"

"You know who I am, Agent Prentiss," Sansa snaps. "Sansa Stark. My father is Lord Ned Stark of Winterfell, Prime Minister of England. My husband is Loras Tyrell, heir to Highgarden. My sister-in-law Margaery is married to Renly Baratheon, fifth in line to the throne of England. Fourth if Robert keeps at his hunting trips and parties. Third if Stannis and his mad fire-religion preacher make him so unpopular that they finally remove him from succession."

"Worth a shot," Prentiss admits. "Why did Witness Protection not change your name? Granted, you're married, but the name 'Sansa' isn't too common across the pond."

"But Tyrell _is_ ," she retorts. "And I'm working with troubled teenagers as opposed to socialites or company heirs, or the general millionaires who have a reason to know me." Sansa sighs. "Back to Blaine's crazy stalker-murderer, please."

"Do you know who Tori Grayson is?"

"Tori the lawyer with the _extremely_ not-lawyer son?" Sansa chuckles.

"His son is Nick Grayson - one of your old patients," Prentiss says, and the redhead chokes.

"Nick?!" She bangs her head against the back of her chair. "Oh seven hells, what else did that boy not tell me?"

"I know, right?" Prentiss replies. "But he probably didn't know Tori was working at Blue Sun since he has a restraining order on him."

"At least I know _that_ ," Sansa tells her, groaning. "Anyway. What about Tori?"

"We think he might be working with Alex. The kidnapping _seems_ out of the blue to most people, but once we thought about it, it was extremely well-thought out compared to your usual stalker's 'follow them around and then make a move' MO. But going on how he's acting in the lockup, he doesn't have the patience for that. Unless he's secretly a genius."

"So he's working with someone who does." Sansa picks at her chair. "And you think it's Tori?"

"He was talking with Alex once," Prentiss says. "Not much of a case, but considering Tori's a lawyer and his son is friends with the victim, it's as good of a lead as any."

"Why do you need me? I'm a therapist right now."

"Well, you've been working with Blaine and Nick for a while," Prentiss says. "It's too soon to say right now, but just keep an eye on them."

"I'm not working with Nick anymore, though."

"But the Erlking is going to be Nick's cousin in February, and you happen to have a history with him." Prentiss hopes she's gotten one over on Sansa, but she feels bad - and annoyed - when Sansa only sighs.

"His job is finding people. My parents have a lot of money, so logically, he found me rather more quickly than usual," Sansa says. "That's all."

"No it's not," Prentiss says to her.

"Well, that's all I want to tell you right now," says the redhead. "Is that it about Blaine, Agent Prentiss?"

"I guess," Prentiss sighs. "Thank you, Mrs. Tyrell."

* * *

 

“Next time you fall in love with a minor, _please_ try not to lose control and strangle his equally minor-aged boyfriend.” A black-haired man with green eyes lets Alex out of his cell. “I’ve pulled enough strings for fifty cats this week, and now I’ve completely lost track of Sansa--”

“Whatever, Littlefinger.” He knows the other man’s probably checked for guards already, but he can’t help a quick glance to both sides. “You know, Sansa might be twenty-something, but at least Blaine’s not _married_.”

Littlefinger scoffs. “Loras Tyrell glitters as much as David Bowie. Nobody’s fooled, especially not Sansa.”

They move through the halls to the back door, with the security cameras still and dark: Whatever Littlefinger did to disarm them, it was from a computer.

"Your carriage, my lord," Littlefinger unlocks the car, and they drive away with the lights off.


	36. Chapter 36

**_“The clock will never strike the right time,” the skull said. “Haggard scrambled the works long ago, one day when he was trying to grab hold of time as it swung by. But the important thing is for you to understand that it doesn’t matter whether the clock strikes ten next, or seven, or fifteen o’clock. You can strike your own time, and start the count anywhere. When you understand that - then any time at all will be the right time for you.”_ **

At three AM is chaos.

The police station starts up a sweep for Alex and contacts the Andersons, Kahales, Willises, and the Hudson-Hummels. Squad cars take shifts at the four houses; friends and family make sure not to leave Blaine and Kurt alone.

Wes and David are put under extra watch, thanks to their infamous “keep looking for Blaine after everyone said to go home” stunt.

“But we found Blaine, didn’t we?” David points out.

The officer attempts not to grin. “You still have a sprained wrist,” he says, but David smirks.

 

* * *

At six AM comes the radio and police alerts about a jailbreak: Inmate is possibly armed and dangerous. Lock your doors and windows, keep in contact with family members, and call the police if you see or hear any sign of the escapee.

The BAU arrives with a ridiculously bad feeling.

“How the hell did he get out?” Morgan wonders.

“He had outside help.” The sheriff points to the cameras: They’re motionless. “You can’t get to the cameras without a computer. The lock was picked from outside, and they probably got out while the guards were changing shifts. We informed the kidnapping victims and posted guards at their houses, and now we’re just scouting this side of Westerville in case he left on foot.”

 

* * *

At seven PM, Nick arrives at his dad’s house. “Hey, Dad?”

“Oh. Nick, can you talk to me later? I’m busy.” Tori presses Nick’s shoulder. He moves, but not far.

“Who’s in there?” Nick squints through the door.

“Someone important. Nick, _leave_ -”

Nick catches a flash of blond and freezes. “Blaine’s stalker?! You’re supposed to be in jail!”

“Looks like I’m not the only one with something to hide, _Spyke_ ,” Alex jabs.

“Dad, what the fuck are you doing with the guy who kidnapped my best friends?!” Is Spyke a nickname or… “And your name isn’t Spyke -”

“LEAVE!” Tori orders with a desperate push.

There’s nothing else Nick can do then, not with the knowledge that his father’s on first-name terms with his friend’s stalker.

* * *

 

Tori grabs a duffel bag and yanks Alex out the back door. “Thanks for fucking up my family even more. He was going to let up on the restraining order.”

“How was I supposed to know your kid’s friends with Blaine?”

“Do you have _any_ self-preservation?!” He cuffs Alex’s shoulder. “If that was a cop coming to warn me about the jailbreak, we’d both be shipped to jail! And Nick’s _still_ going to tell the cops, so we have ten to twenty minutes before they start coming for us!”

They have to wait until Jeff’s car is past the corner, but once it is, Tori stuffs him in the passenger’s seat and goes at the speed limit to their backup house on the other side of town. (Because blazing off would draw too much attention.)

When they’re inside, Tori gives Alex a box of brown hair dye from the duffel bag. He makes a call while he’s waiting his turn: “Hey, Baelish?”

_“Did he try to strangle someone again?”_

“No, but he had us move to House B because he wouldn’t keep his mouth shut while I was trying to get Nick out.” Tori huffs. “Why are we even bothering with him?”

_“He might lose his temper too much, but he **does** have a knack for going unnoticed when he stays calm.”_

“And?” There’s never just one reason.

_“You wouldn’t want Nick to get caught in this, would you?”_

“Don’t bother. He’s probably at the police station by now,” Tori tells him. “And?”

_“I need Alex to get to Sansa.”_

“Sansa the English therapist?!” Tori bangs his head on the wall, because his dad instincts are flaring up again at the most ironic time ever. “Look Baelish, you’re not too bad with looks, but if you’re old enough to be her dad, I don’t think -”

Petyr hangs up.

“She’s married!” Alex calls through the door.

Tori almost drops his phone. “When did that happen?!”

* * *

 

“Thanks for telling us, Nick.” Hotchner looks long at the boy across the table - he hasn’t moved since he sat down. “And whatever reason your dad’s hiding Alex, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you guys need a ride home?”

“No.” From Nick.

Jeff sighs. “You can follow us if you want.”

* * *

 

Back in Jeff’s car, Nick needs to take a few careful breaths. Everything’s still jumbled and tilting, so he doesn’t quite process it until right before they reach the park. “Can we stop for a minute? I need to get out.”

“Nick, what’s wrong?” Jeff asks.

He fumbles with the door handle, and Jeff almost gets rear-ended by Hotch’s car making sure Nick doesn’t fall out. It’s a good thing that most of the curb is empty, because he barely manages to park before Nick’s stumbling out. “NICK!”

Oh god, Nick in an open area and running around in whatever blind emotion he’s feeling? This can’t be good.

“Does he do this a lot?” Hotchner squints in the direction Nick went.

“No, but I’m not too surprised.” With the streetlights too far away, Jeff has to strain to see through the dark. Luckily, Nick turns left - all Jeff has to do is make one good sprint from where he is to tackle him.

Nick’s crying as he blunders down, and he’s wringing at his temples. “He’s _there_! Blaine’s stalker is in my dad’s house!”

“Nick, _calm down_.” Jeff holds him, and he’s not sure if Nick’s still trying to get away or if he just doesn’t know he’s still moving. “Please. Calm down, we already went to the police station -”

“I was going to let up on the restraining order!”

“What?”

“I was going to let up on Dad’s restraining order and I was talking to him two goddamn days ago, but then I saw Blaine’s stalker and it’s just - _fuck!_ ”

“It’s okay. You’re okay -”

Nick screams a muddled cluster of sounds, and Jeff wonders if he should cover his mouth, but he doesn’t want to get bitten or punched with Nick so damn _angry_ -

Jeff can feel Nick’s pulse hammering under his hands. “Dude -”

More screaming.

“Shh.” Jeff gives up talking and presses his mouth to Nick’s temple - unlike the thicker pulse at his neck, this one’s small and fluttering, like a bird. He knows that Nick’s just seen one of the ten worst people you could run into at your dad’s house, but a soft thing in the core of Jeff’s ribs echoes the beat.

And Nick’s attempting to stop crying, so he does it again. But he misses Nick’s temple and ends up near the soft part of his cheek.

Nick’s cologne and the pine needles twist together, and they cut through the smell of the dirt with a strange gentleness - but Jeff stuffs this into the back of his head so he can make sure Nick doesn’t start screaming or flailing.

He turns on his phone’s flashlight and shines it on a tree to let Hotchner know where they are, and in a few moments the agent finds them.

“Nick, are you all right?”

Jeff shakes his head.

_“That bastard.”_ Nick crowds into Jeff’s shoulder, like they’re not half-blind in a park.

“Hey.” Hotchner catches his breath and sits down on Nick’s other side, rocking him with one hand on his shoulder. “Nick, you’ll be fine. I promise.”

“That goddamn -” Nick latches onto Hotchner in a desperate hug. “My dad’s a _serial killer._ I’m not gonna be _fine!_ ”

They don’t bother correcting him right now - he’s too angry to care about the specific kind of criminal his dad is.

It takes four minutes for Nick to stop calling his dad names, and twelve minutes and forty-one seconds for him to stop crying.

Jeff wonders whether it’s the lack of light, the shared black hair, or the way Hotchner tucks Nick under his chin that makes them look like each other.


	37. Quick note

Don't worry, guys, I haven't dropped off the earth! I'm just getting ready for final exams. :P

I should have a new chapter up before New Year's.


	38. The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh lord, I forgot that I updated FanFiction.Net's version of Hunting the Unicorn, but not this one! Sorry about the huge wait!

_**Then, as though her eyes were getting used to darkness, the unicorn began to perceive a second figure in the cage. They loomed hugely over the captives of the Midnight Carnival, and yet they were joined to them: stormy dreams sprung from a grain of truth.** _

Tori Grayson's house is empty when the police arrive at a quarter to eight. They don't need to break open the door because it's still unlocked; the fridge is half-full, and there's no loose clothes hangers or wide-open dressers-they didn't rush to pack anything.

"He has a backup house," the police chief Francis Harley says to the BAU. "Probably had a suitcase or two ready in case _someone_ found Alex. The man knows his stuff."

Nobody's surprised. Unfortunately, they found out a while ago that everything Nick said about his father is true: Tori Grayson was a government agent - he'd know how to vanish if necessary.

"You think he's out of town by now?" Morgan wonders.

"Maybe not," she says. "You can get to the freeway pretty easy, but traffic means it would take a while to get someplace. Most likely he's still in Westerville or somewhere nearby."

Rossi brings them to one of the rooms, where a dusty garbage bag lies in the closet. "Should we leave it here in case it's evidence? It doesn't feel like a weapon-it's something wooden." He pushes at it, and something slides around with a crinkle of black plastic.

"Let's take it to the station just in case."

* * *

At the station, they discover an odd contraption in the bag: A magnifying lens is glued to the end of a plank. The sliding thing is a flashlight on pieces of stacked cardboard, tied to the main plank with cord. A small thing on a screw is placed halfway between them. Everything minus the lens is painted black, but little patches of bare wood have escaped.

The flashlight is dim and shaky on the first attempt to turn it on, but after a quick hunt for new batteries, they turn it on again to see the Bat-Signal on the darkened wall.

JJ can't help a chuckle while she slides the flashlight back and forward: The Bat-Signal shrinks and grows accordingly. "Henry's getting into his Spiderman-phase."

"Well, unless Batman is a couple hundred yards away, we don't need this," Francis tells them.

"That's Nick's," Hotch tells them. "Call his aunt and get him over."

"How do you know Tori's not just a Batman fan?" Morgan asks.

"Nick made it," Hotch says. "The paint is uneven and everything's tied or glued on - this is the work kids do when they're too young to handle power tools."

* * *

Hotchner's waiting in the room as Nick arrives, with the magnifying lens glinting in the light. "Nick, is this -"

"No," he says immediately.

"It's… not yours?"

" _No,"_ he repeats, but he's staring at the Bat-Signal instead of Hotch and his eyes are starting to water. "He doesn't get to kidnap my friends and then keep the goddamn -"

Beatrice steps forward immediately: She's also recognized it. "Mr. Hotchner, is it okay if he steps out for a minute?"

"Sure," Hotch tells her.

Nick bolts like there's a gun aimed at him, and he bumps into his uncle outside the door. Arthur is used to this, from how he grabs Nick's arm and sits him down patiently.

"Mrs. Harvey, what's Nick's history with his dad?" Hotch wonders.

"What did he tell you?"

"Tori Grayson is a government agent, and he divorced Nick's mother when he was eight. He has a restraining order on Tori, but not because of any abuse or violent history."

"And he doesn't miss his dad," Beatrice adds.

"Was he lying?" Hotch wonders. "His friends say he has a problem with that."

"Not _technically_ ," Beatrice says. "He never lies about his friends or his family. Himself, that's another issue entirely."

Hotch thinks about Nick flailing recklessly in the park, so blindly furious that he calls his dad a serial-killer. No, that's not how someone who doesn't miss his dad would react. On the other hand, who'd take that kind of news _well_?

"Nick isn't exactly normal," Beatrice says. "But he's Nick. Nothing's wrong with him, so we just make sure he doesn't lie about important things and he doesn't go on a bender like when he got kicked out."

"The Warblers say that, too." And there's his dad instincts clamoring to know why so many people refuse to ask why a teenager is doing weed, sneaking into nightclubs, and constantly lying to the people he cares about.

The more Hotch thinks about Nick, the more confused he gets. (And the more he wants to lock Nick in a place that has impenetrable walls, with a therapist who isn't under Witness Protection.)

"My brother was a very good father," Beatrice tells him. "He's just too smart for his own good."

"Tori might be someone we've been looking for," Hotch tells her cautiously. You can't get more evidence than Nick actually saying that Alex called his father 'Spyke.'

She's not surprised. "He was never a government agent, was he?"

"He was," Hotch says. "And that's why it's taken us two years to find him."

She looks out the window at Nick. "He can't have left the government because he wanted to."

"We still don't know why an agent with no history of trouble would suddenly go rogue," Hotch says to her. "We're thinking blackmail or he made a very badly-timed mistake. Anyway - the Bat-Signal. Why is Nick upset?"

"Nick gave it to him after the divorce was finalized," Beatrice says. "He was ten and he told Tori to use it if he wanted to talk to him."

"Rossi calls him Nightwing," Hotch points out, and Beatrice laughs.

"So does half of our hospital staff."

"If Tori tries to contact the family, would you tell us?" Hotch says.

"No problem, Mr. Hotchner." She gets her bag and turns to leave, but looks again at the Bat-Signal. "Is it okay if I take that?"

* * *

In the car, Nick spots the Bat-Signal clacking in the backseat and huffs. "Aunt Bea, I'm not eight anymore. You didn't have to get it."

"Your dad loves you, Nick."

"Fuck him. He's a serial killer." But he turns his face away, and she knows he's not as angry as he looks.

"He's not a _serial killer_ , he's… working with a kidnapper." Well, this isn't much better. Still, Nick can't argue with that unless he really stretches.

He sighs. "Whatever. Just leave it in my room or something."

* * *

The next morning a couple hours to lunch, Sansa's phone rings with a call from Blaine: "Hello, Blaine? Is something the matter?"

" _Kind of."_ He twiddles with a loose thread of the blanket.

"What's wrong?"

" _I don't want to go outside."_ He manages to stay quiet, which he's glad for, but it also means his eyes are burning.

"Why? Where are you?"

" _I just -"_ Saltwater falls in his lap. _"They didn't find him yet, and Nick said he was at his dad's place and I don't even know what's going on with that, but -"_

"Shh." She makes a note to call Nick - are the Warblers' lives ridiculous, terrifying, or both? "Don't worry about Nick right now. Where are you, love?"

" _Home,"_ he says. _"In my room."_

"Is anyone else with you?"

" _Kyle and Greg, but they're checking the boiler."_

"Do you need me to come over?"

" _Well, not if -"_

"No, Blaine," she stops him. " _ **Do you need me to stay with you?**_ If you're not feeling safe, nobody's going to yell at you for asking me to come over for a house session."

" _If… if you're not busy, sure."_

He's not going to budge. And she doesn't know what would happen if she went to his house anyway, so Sansa sighs. "Blaine, ring someone up and ask them to stay with you. That's an order."

" _Okay."_ He obliges as usual, but he's probably relieved to find another option.

"Let me know when you feel better, hmm?"

" _I will."_

Blaine scrolls through his contacts and mass-texts the Warblers: _Hey guys, is anyone up to hang out at my place?_

* * *

Yeah, Jeff's not fooled when Blaine texts everyone after his stalker breaks out of jail. _Is this about Stalker Guy?_

It takes about five minutes for Blaine to answer.

_-Yes._

_-Dude, you don't have to soften things up for us. I'm coming._ From David.

_-me too._ Trent.

_-I just need to call my cousins about my graduation party and then I'll head over._ Wes.

_-Wtf! You just got kidnapped!_ Trent.

_-I wasn't concussed or injured, so I guess that means I'm okay. Plus a few of my cousins are coming from Hawaii. Hard to argue with that._

Jeff pulls a jacket on. _Nick, you left your tablet at my place. Should I bring it to Blaine's?_

_-Sweet! I thought I lost it._

_-You're always leaving stuff at each other's houses. Just move in already._ From Brandon.

Damn it, that wasn't supposed to be on the group-text. He sighs. _Sorry, that was supposed to be just Nick._

_-FUCK YOU, BRANDON._

_-Wrong guy to fuck, Nick!_ Brandon.

_-Lol_

_-LMAO_

_-Buuuuuuuurn!_

* * *

Kurt's phone starts buzzing halfway through coffee with his own glee club, so he waits ten minutes for the texts to die down before he skims the conversation. "Huh."

"Ooh, what's it about this time?" Mercedes asks.

"Blaine needs someone to stay with him because they still haven't caught his stalker. Plus Wes is setting up his graduation party, and the 'Jeff and Nick need to get married' jokes have commenced." Kurt texts Blaine instead of trying to wade through the group chat: _I'll head over to your place. See you in two hours._

_-Thank you._

"I'll see you guys later."

"Hell no, babe, we're coming," Mercedes insists. "Blaine needs to do stuff with more people!"

"He 'does stuff' with twice as many people as the New Directions," Kurt points out.

"Yeah, but he has a _mansion!_ " Puck adds. "And we've never seen it because he's your bitch and he's always going to your place!"

"He's not my - wait, really?" Kurt thinks back. Nope, Blaine's either visited him or Kurt's gone to Blaine's home by himself. "Huh. You _haven't_ seen his place."

"Road trip!" Finn announces.

"Hang on, let me check." Kurt gets his phone: _Is it okay if the New Directions comes along? They haven't gone to your place yet and they find it a terrible oversight._

Blaine has to laugh when he gets Kurt's text. _Sure._

"Okay, _now_ road trip," Kurt tells them.

* * *

Much to Blaine and Kurt's resignation, Nick and Puck have brought a six-pack of beer each. The two of them grin and high-five.

"How did you two make a pit-stop for beer?" Kurt wonders. "You're in high school."

"I had mine in the trunk from a couple days ago," Puck tells them. "Just warning you, it's warm."

"That's what ice is for!" Trent tells him and goes to the kitchen.

"Thank you, edited license." Nick takes it out of his wallet and waves it at Kurt, smirking. "Anyway, Blaine - if you're not going outside, you're getting alcohol." He shoves a can at the tenor, who rubs his face.

"Am I even _supposed_ to have beer while I'm recovering from -"

"It's been at least two weeks, man - the no-alcohol thing is for, like, two days!" Nick says. "You're good!"

While Trent is getting ice and cups, Blaine finds a different subject. "Hey Wes, when's your graduation party? After you get your diploma?"

"Oh right, I'm walking the stage," he remembers. "Dad and I are driving my cousins over tomorrow and the party's next week."

"That sucks! You got kidnapped!" Mike opens his beer.

"At least graduation isn't that hard," he muses. "Stand for the Pledge of Allegiance, look emotional for the speeches, walk the stage, and toss our caps in the air. Pictures, crying, doing things that we've been planning for years. Dante and Brandon are going to do a donut in the parking lot, by the way," Wes tells them. "They're planning on three circles, but I'm getting a video in case they need to make a getaway."

"You guys are awesome!" Tina declares.

"I'm just figuring out how y'all get up to this," Mercedes wonders. "The Boy Wonder can tell someone's high in ten minutes, and he and Puck had a psychic moment with getting beer."

"Why are you always surprised that we do shit?" David asks.

"Blaine's the only one who comes to Lima a lot and he's pretty clean-cut," Mike reminds them.

"Yeah, Prince Charming is always the designated driver or the one who talks us out of things," Nick recalls. "If Kurt was dating me, you'd have _way_ more shit to talk about."

"Like how you couldn't remember you came out because you got high as a kite?" Jeff reminds him sweetly.

"He came out when he was high?!" Finn asks.

"Nick was high _and_ drunk! It was awesome!" Trent takes over with the New Directions. "I mean, when it was happening it was the opposite of awesome, but now it's cool! Last year, he told his mom he was bi -"

Nick groans and drinks his beer as fast as he can. "You're lucky you're so pretty, Jeff, or I would punch your face right now."

"So Wes, did anyone _ask_ if you wanted to walk the stage?" Kurt asks while the New Directions listen to Trent embarrassing Nick. "Even with just a courtesy call going 'we know you got kidnapped and you're dealing with a police investigation, but just reminding you about the thing we plan for seniors every year called graduating'?"

"We actually forgot about graduation," Wes admits. "And then my aunt called last night to gush about me walking the stage, so Mom needed to explain that my friends and I got kidnapped. But now half my family's coming over for a week for either the ceremony or the party, so yeah."

"Blaine, did you even touch your beer?" Nick realizes, spotting Blaine's unopened can. "Drink that shit before I hook it to your veins!"

Blaine opens his can, takes a sip, and puts it back on the table. "There. I drank it."

"Aww, our little hapa's getting a _spine_ ," Wes notes with mock pride. "David, take a picture of Blaine's first snark."

* * *

By noon, Kyle and Greg have finished with the boiler to find Nick demonstrating how to shotgun a beer. "- and knives suck at punching holes. They're flat, so it's hard to twist them around like you do with keys," Nick says. "Maybe a Bowie knife is good, but who actually _has_ one?"

"And _why_ don't you drown in beer, again?" Blaine wonders.

"If you take a really good breath and keep relaxed so you don't gag or choke, it goes straight into your stomach," Trent explains. "So being a singer is great for shotgunning!"

"Or someone who has a wind instrument," David adds. "We lost like, eight shotgunning contests to the orchestra at the homecoming party last year."

"Those guys can do _circular_ breathing," Trent laments the New Directions.

"We cleaned the floors a couple days ago, so try not to spill too much," Greg warns them, amused.

"Got it, Greg. Time me, guys!" Nick announces before he puts the can to his mouth.

* * *

Two hours later with a couple more six-packs from Kyle, there's been three shotgunning contests where the Warblers won two out of three rounds. _Rachel_ won for the New Directions, to everyone's surprise.

They've also managed to strong-arm Blaine into having two and a half beers, and it was totally worth it. Blaine's not at the "make out with whoever's in a five-foot radius" level, to Kurt's relief, but he's a lot more open and it's interesting to see what he actually thinks.

"- and it's just, _stop making music for the good of mankind_ , Kidz Bop," Blaine finishes. "Or if you do, at least get an adult to look up the lyrics, because Neon Trees' "Animal" might not have any bad words, but it's still pretty sexual."

"It's _literally_ impossible to take it non-sexually," Sam agrees. "First verse goes 'I kind of wanna be more than friends.' Sure, kids - it means you're leveling up to BEST friends!"

"Right?!" Blaine takes a last chug of his beer. "The song goes on about how they're fighting their _animalistic urges_ \- which are also about cannibalism, and that's another problem because you're letting twelve-year-olds go "take a bite of my heart tonight!" like it's not about ripping someone's heart up with your teeth."

"It's _not_ about sharing candy hearts with your bestie?!" Mercedes fake-weeps. "You guys ruined this song!"

" _AND I WON'T BE DENIED BY YOU, THE ANIMAL INSIDE OF YOUUUU!"_ Blaine sings into the beer can like it's a mic - he's moving more loosely and his energy is a different kind than his normal happy bouncing. _"Oh, oh, I want some more! Oh, oh, what are you waiting forrrrr? What are you waiting forrrr?"_

Santana wolf-whistles. "Damn, Guy-Hobbit, your sex-o-meter just broke right now!"

"We need to get him drunk for _everything,_ guys!" David insists.

"Just make sure he doesn't start kissing random people!" Trent reminds them, and he gets a round of high-fives as Blaine reddens and laughs.

"And Nick needs to wear a chastity belt," Jeff adds. "We can't trust this dumbass with alcohol and sexy songs!"

"'Guys, it's half an hour to the performance!'" David jokes. "'Blaine, drink some beer! Nick, chastity belt!'"

"And it's _still_ less illegal than Vocal Adrenaline's shit!" Puck realizes. "Nobody's on an IV drip!"

David's in hysterics, and the others aren't far behind.

" _Say goodbye to my heart toniiiiiight,"_ Blaine continues absently under the laughter. He's leaning into Kurt, with his eyes darkened to the orange of embers.

Kurt's glad that everyone's distracted by the mock-requirement to get Blaine drunk at concerts, because Blaine's voice is rough and low, and Kurt feels like anything he says is going to spark a make-out session if he's not careful. Which would be fine if it weren't for all the people around -

"Oh crap, I'm right up in your face!" Blaine giggles and gives him a peck before straightening up. "I'm sorry, Kurt!"

Nick laughs at the disappointment on Kurt's face and grabs Jeff. "I don't know why Kurt's mad, but we need to get out before Blaine does something _more_ stupid!"

* * *

Once they're all out the door, Nick messes up his hair in irritation. "Blaine's the only person who could cockblock _himself!_ God!"

"Man, what did he not do _this time_?" Trent groans.

"Whatever he said totally turned Kurt on, but then Blaine thought he was getting up in Kurt's space and he moved _away_. Prince Charming Blaine totally canceled out Horny Blaine!"

Cue the resigned groans from the other Warblers.

"Are you always this invested in your friends' relationships?" Rachel wonders.

"Only if they're as stupid as Blaine," Trent assures her.

"Or if they won't just have sex already like _these two_!" David shoves Jeff and Nick.

"Ow! Fuck, you got my ear!" Nick shoves him back.

"What are you gonna do, Boy Wonder?"

"Does anyone in the New Directions need a ride?" Wes asks, moving to the left as David and Nick get into a shoving contest. "Dad's picking me up before we drive to my cousin's place, and Lima's pretty close."

"I can fit two or three more people, too," Jeff adds. "Nick, you're not twelve! Stop shoving people!" He wraps an arm around Nick's torso and pulls him a few feet back.

"God, Jeff, where are your muscles hiding?" He can't get loose from the blond's arm.

"Dancer, Nick," Jeff reminds him. "I lift people for two hours on Tuesdays and Wednesdays."

"Have you ever tried wall sex?" Nick wonders.

"Wh…" It takes Jeff a minute to recover, and he turns a shade of maroon. "Nick, that's stupid."

"You totally tried it!" Puck grins. "How did it go?"

"That's how I know it's stupid," Jeff admits. "First, you have to lift someone off the floor, and people are fucking _heavy_. Plus if you're being carried, you can't just hang there like a bag of flour unless you want to be dropped if we move a lot. _Like_ _if you're having sex_." Jeff rubs his temples. "My back was gone after ten seconds and I nearly dropped Mallory twice, so I took some Midol and we waited for it to kick in before we had normal sex."

A moment of silence grows, as much from their varying states of tipsiness as it is from the shattering of fantasies.

"Your story sucks!" Nick accuses.

"That's the point, Nick!" Jeff retorts. "Never try against-the-wall sex outside of a movie set! God, I bet the carried person uses a chair so the standing person doesn't pull a muscle."

After he finishes texting his dad, Wes wonders: "What are the odds that Kurt and Blaine _still_ aren't going to do anything even though they're both tipsy and almost alone in a mansion?"

"Who's alone?" Kurt opens the door, to the Warblers' irritated glances at each other.

"There's your answer, Wes," David tells him.

* * *

A few minutes after everyone leaves, Blaine sinks his head onto the couch's arm. "Kyyyyyle, I think I need help."

"Oh, please." Kyle grins and stays put. "Sleep it off, bro. Two and a half beers are fine."

He laughs. _"No, I won't sleep toniiiiiiight…"_

"If you can sing your answers, you can walk to your room," Kyle assures as he leaves. "Done here, bro."

"You're a horrible big brother!" Blaine tells him. Something jabs into his upper leg - his phone fell out of his pocket. "Oh yeah, I need to talk to Sansa." He struggles to sit up.

After a few failed texts plus one accidental send, Blaine decides to just call her.

" _Hello, Blaine?"_ She answers. _"How are you?"_

"I'm good," he says. "Nick and Kurt's friend brought beer and I had… two and a half. Is that okay for a concussion?"

A playful scoff. _"It's been two weeks, love. You're fine."_

"Kay."

" _So, who came over?"_

"Nick, Jeff, Wes, David, Trent, Kurt, and… all of Kurt's friends," Blaine says. "Kurt's choir group wanted to see my place because they've never been here before, and beer is awesome when I'm not kissing the wrong people!"

This time she laughs. _"Oh gods, I hope it is!"_ A voice murmurs from Sansa's side of the phone. _"No, Loras, I'm just on the phone."_

"I might need to talk more tomorrow because I'm like, really bad at talking right now," Blaine warns her, and she giggles.

" _Don't worry, it's fine. Good job for calling someone!"_

"Thank you."

* * *

When Sansa hangs up, she finds Loras still standing right outside her bedroom. "Oh, Loras - you didn't have to wait."

"And _you_ didn't have to hole up in your room." He sits down next to her, and she curls up under his arm with a little sigh of defeat.


	39. The Kingdom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry late Christmas or Happy early New Year!
> 
> I was going to update at least one or two months before now, but 2016 has been ROUGH, man.

**_This infuriated the townsmen as no mere theft would have done. They gave nothing away, and they knew that their enemies were those that did._ **  

Nick sinks into his bed, and he’s not sure when he falls asleep or not, but he wakes up sometime around sunset and realizes he’s forgotten to turn the lamp off. In a column of fading light, the Bat-Signal waits on his desk.

“Dad’s a serial-killer,” he tells it. “Also, I’m not a kid. Why would I start using you again?”

Silence.

“God, fuck you!”

“Nick, did Jeff call _you_ this time?” Arthur sticks his head in. “Jeff doesn’t _get_ in trouble!”

“Just talking to myself, Uncle.”

“Oh, okay.” He leaves.

 

* * *

 

A couple hours before lunch, Aunt Bea realizes she’s short of celery and carrots, so Nick heads to the store and runs into Blaine, who’s already finished his grocery run. That’s also when he meets up with his former therapist and Blaine’s current one, Sansa fucking Stark.

He might not be able to tell anyone her awesome Iron Man birth name, but she can’t read minds.

…He hopes.

“Hello, you two!” She waves.

“Hey, Sansa. What’s…”

Three people filter over to Sansa with stuff for her shopping cart: Her “unattainable in at least three ways” husband Loras, an equally hot girl with brown curls, and a giant blonde woman who might have more muscles than Blaine. (Aside from the blonde, everyone’s at least a couple inches shorter than Sansa and it’s kind of hilarious.)

“Is everyone in Britain hot?!” Nick demands.

“Nick!” Blaine hits his shoulder.

“Is everyone in America jailbait?” Hot Brunette retorts.

“Miss Tyrell!” The blonde chides.

Sansa’s about to say something else, but she gives up and sighs. “Okay. Nick and Blaine, this is my husband Loras and his sister Margaery -”

“You’re married?!” Blaine gapes.

“How many people have you not told?” Margaery laughs.

_“This is Loras’ sister, Margaery,”_ Sansa continues with a glare, “and this is Brienne. Marg, Brienne, and Loras, these are Blaine and Nick, two of the kids I work with. Well, I used to work with Nick, but now it’s Blaine.”

“Huh,” Blaine shakes their hands in turn. “Is your sister here, Sansa?”

“No, she’s… _not_ here,” Sansa falters.

“…Yes?” Blaine affirms.

_Damn it, why is Blaine gay and already with the love of his life?_ Nick wonders. _He and Sansa are so not-matching that they should **totally** bang. Wrong hair, wrong build, AND wrong height. Blaine would punch anyone stupid enough to tell Sansa he’s too short for her -_

Shit, someone’s looking at him. “What?”

“Oh my god.” Blaine holds his temple. “I’m sorry, Nick spaces out a lot. This one time, he ended up in Canada.”

“Dude!” Nick declares, affronted. “I wasn’t in Canada because I’m an idiot! I ate some weed brownies with Martin, and that was before we knew edibles are _way_ stronger than -”

_“Nick!”_ Blaine and Sansa join in a duet of annoyed concern, and Blaine clamps a hand over Nick’s mouth for emphasis.

Margaery is the living embodiment of the cat-smile emoji right now. “I need your number,” she tells Nick, to Loras’ sigh.

“Marg, can I at least buy groceries without you getting someone’s number?” Sansa pleads. “Wait until the car park, please.”

“Is that what British people call a parking lot?!” Blaine asks as they drift to the cash registers. “That’s adorable!”

_You know, Blaine and Sansa’s personalities match pretty well,_ Nick thinks again. _Blaine is everyone’s knight in shining armor, and Sansa is a princess or something. And they’re both depressed as fuck._

“I’m heading to the self-checkout,” he waves. “Later, Blaine.”

“Oh - if that’s all you’re getting, just stick it here.” Sansa pushes a bag up to make room.

“Sweet!” He puts it on the conveyor belt.

“Sansa, you just gave Nick more weed money!” Blaine jokes.

“Five dollars?” She laughs. “I’m such an enabler!”

“He has a superpower for hiding things,” the tenor says to her. “One time we took his wallet and counted his money, but he _still_ managed to buy stuff. David nearly had a heart attack.”

_Thank you, decoy wallet that doesn’t have my cards,_ Nick thinks with a grin.

The chatter weaves into the beeps of the cash register. Nick grabs his stuff once it’s scanned, then waves goodbye to Blaine and Sansa in the parking lot (car park!), and heads back home.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the day is pretty boring. There’s nothing to do in summer, two of the most fun Warblers are on vacation, and you can’t really top how the school year ended with three of your friends getting kidnapped. (Plus, one of them missed getting assaulted by three inches, because everyone loves a certain Hobbit-sized Fight Club member _in the worst way possible._ ) Nick wanders the house between gaming, Facebook, and other electronic things.

In his room, the Bat-Signal is still on his desk, with a light coat of dust except for the spots where people held it. He sighs, grabs a shirt from the hamper, and runs it over the wood.

“This doesn’t mean I’m okay with my serial-killer dad,” he informs it. “I’m just bored. At this rate, I’m going to start cleaning my damn room.”

Newly black aside from splotches of bare wood, he leaves it on the corner and checks out the window: The sun is going down.

The Bat-Signal waits.

_“Fiiiiiine.”_ He sticks it in his bag on the way out into the living room. “This still doesn’t mean I’m okay with Dad yet.”

His cousin Milton’s in the living room. “Mill, is Aunt Bea around?”

“Backyard.”

“If she asks where I went, I’m with Jeff at the park,” Nick says. A couple feet before he reaches the door, he stops to add: “Gerald Park, not Franklin.”

“You’re going _outside?_ Is your laptop charging?” Milton jokes.

Nick laughs as he opens the door.

 

* * *

 

Gerald Park is one of those smallish parks, mostly used for picnics and joggers who need to take a break. Everyone’s cleared out by the time it’s sundown.

Jeff parks by the old warehouse across the street, and Nick takes a good look at the wall. There’s a pretty big space between the windows, so he tries to gauge the trees’ heights from here. “Please tell me we’re not doing something illegal.”

“Don’t worry, man, just trying something out.”

“That doesn’t mean ‘law-abiding.’” Jeff locks the car.

“It’s not illegal, I swear!” Nick tells him. “Just give me a boost into that tree across the street.”

“Is it technically legal, but _not advisable_?” Jeff continues, and they walk after a car passes them.

“Dude!” He rolls his eyes. “Look: You boost me into the tree. I will put something there - it’s _not_ drugs! - and then I’ll get down from the tree. It’ll take five seconds.”

“…Okay,” the blond concedes.

From his seat on a branch, Nick has to break off some needle-filled twigs, but once the flashlight has a clear path to the wall, Jeff starts laughing his ass off. “Oh my god! The _Bat-Signal?!_ ”

And even without knowing Jeff for a gazillion years, it’s pretty damn clear that this is the. _Best. Laugh. Ever._ He fucking falls down, he’s laughing so hard.

Nick has to help him back up when he climbs down from the tree, but he’s grinning. “We’re done,” he says. “See? Five seconds. Let’s go do something.”

“Nightwing, you’re just gonna leave it there?” Jeff fishes for his keys. “What’s it for?”

“Don’t laugh, okay?”

“If I laugh any more right now, I’m gonna lose a lung.”

“I’m serious.” Shit, now his hands are twitchy. Why did he have to get all emotional?

They step back into the car, and Nick can’t really focus on anything besides the heat in his face.

“Nick, are you doing something illegal _after_ I drop you off at home?” Jeff puts the keys in the ignition, but doesn’t turn the engine on.

“Goddamn it!” Thank you, Jeff’s Hot Teacher Instincts! He’s way too pissed off to feel awkward now. “This is the _opposite_ of illegal! I need to get my dad out of hiding, so we can put him in jail for breaking Stalker Dude _out_ of jail!”

“I… holy shit.” Well, at least Jeff’s not laughing. “Are the police in on it?”

“I thought it up ten minutes ago.”

“Nick, you have to tell the police _something._ ” He turns the engine on and starts backing out of the space. “Even if it’s just ‘hey, I’m gonna try and lure my dad out of hiding, I’m letting you know in case it works,’” The blond waits for a car to pass.

“Fine, whatever.” Nick sighs and checks his phone. “You worry about _everything_ , man.”

“Also, why are you using the Bat-Signal and not just _calling_ him?”

“Don’t laugh.”

 

* * *

 

**_“What.”_** Alex stops at a news channel. “Tori, check this out.”

“Don’t tell me if it’s Littlefinger.” He checks the curtains out of habit and rubs at his hair--the dye needs a couple more days to settle down, but at least his hair clearly isn’t red.

“It’s the _opposite_ of Littlefinger.” He turns the volume up.

Tori can’t help gaping as photos of a misty Bat-Signal hovers on the wall of a warehouse.

_“- and there’s been a noticeable drop in crime over the past week,”_ the reporter in a headscarf says. _“More people are traveling the street than usual just to take pictures of it, but they also go home earlier, so it’s not clear which of these factors are responsible, if at all.”_

_“Have there been any sightings of a man in a bat-suit, Amira?”_

“I know, right?” Alex pokes the older man’s shoulder to shake him out of it.

_“That’s Nick,”_ he strains out.

“Your kid?”

“No, my boyfriend.” He sighs. “Yes, my son!”

“How did he get a Bat-Signal?”

“Don’t laugh.”

 

* * *

 

“Ooooooookay,” Prentiss says when she and Hotch meet up with Nick. “I wish you would have given us a _little_ bit of warning, but… I guess we have a plan now?”

“Nick, are you sure he’s gonna show up?” Hotch wonders.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because I fucked up, which means he feels bad. So he’s going to try and make amends. Because he’s responsible.”

“Nick, you didn’t fuck up.” Hotch wonders if this is a distraction, but considering Jeff had to wrangle him over here, it doesn’t seem like they’re planning anything.

Well, anything besides ‘luring a kidnapper and his accomplice out of hiding’ with a confident knowledge of said accomplice’s train of thought.

“What the hell does calling the police mean… right, you’re FBI. Of course you don’t think that’s screwing up.”

“Dude, it’s called _following the_ _law._ ” Jeff sags in his chair.

Hotch looks at Prentiss - no help there - and he really hopes this isn’t the ‘three versions of truth’ thing that Wes was talking about.

 

* * *

 

“He’s trying to get me to talk to him.” Tori sighs.

“How do you know it’s him and not just some kid having fun?”

“It’s been _two days_ since you blew our cover in the worst way ever,” Tori points out with a glare, “and the Bat-Signal, one version I had in _my house,_ that _my son_ knows - and more importantly, has a motive to use because _you kidnapped three of his friends_ \- shows up on TV. Coincidence?”

“Okay, good point.” Alex jumps when passersby drift on the other side of the wall, but the curtains are drawn and it’s pretty dark. “Are you gonna go, though?”

He winces. “Kind of.”

“Yes/no answer, man,” Alex points out. “How can you _kind of_ show up?”

“I found out in Nick’s second week of high school.” Tori grabs his blue notepad and a pen.

 

* * *

 

_“Nick, what did you do?” Tori comes to the teacher’s office to see his utterly bored son fuming in a chair, with his mother Jean sitting next to him._

_“It’s more what he **doesn’t** do, Mr. Grayson,” she says. “Nick’s skipped class the past week.”_

_“I dropped off my homework and answered ‘yes’ on roll call,” Nick points out. “That’s literally all the government needs for me to be there. When you try to punish me for doing my shit, they’re gonna need an explanation.”_

_“But **ethically,** ” Tori reminds him, “school isn’t just for teaching you stuff -”_

_“‘It’s for teaching us how the world works.’” Nick grins. “And I **learned** you can’t do more than give me detention if my grades are fine.”_

_“They can’t be fine after a week!” Tori looks at the teacher: Her head’s on the desk. “Really?”_

_She groans and mumbles something that sounds like ‘average.’_

_“Oh god.” Tori pinches his nose. “Nick, have you thought about a hobby to burn off all that energy you spend finding loopholes?”_

_“Singing is cool,” Nick muses. “Doesn’t Dalton have a choir or something?”_

* * *

 

Another cluster of people outside are talking - or more like screaming and laughing at jokes, thanks to an early bar visit.

There are always things you regret saying to teens since their half-finished brains go straight to “everything is shit” instead of “talking things out” or “taking deep breaths,” but it’s _especially_ bad with Nick.

 

* * *

 

_“All you did was tell him he could skip a couple of visits if he hated going back and forth between you and Jean?” The lawyer wonders. “Why does he want a restraining order?”_

_“He made up something about my place being too far to see his friends and he’s upset about it,” Tori tells her. “To be fair, he doesn’t have his license yet, so I’d need to go with him everywhere even if I didn’t have work.”_

_“Oh.” She looks both amused and pitying. “So he’s trying to outsmart you.”_

_“He’s just being stubborn,” Jean scoffs. “Outsmarting is when he spends an hour looking for my alcohol stash but doesn’t actually drink it, because he knows I have to find a new spot anyway.”_

_“He drinks **mine!** ”_

_“Get some Pabst labels and stick them on your actual beer,” Jean advises. “He said PBR is the hipster drink now.”_

* * *

 

Currently they’re all playing some sort of reverse-chicken game - where the loser isn’t the first one turning away, it’s the one who reaches out to their own damn family. But he never really treats them like losers, does he? He answers Jean’s calls and responds to Tori’s messages - if he were a couple years older and in college, this situation would be basically normal.

And now he’s using the Bat-Signal like he instructed Tori to do, all those years before he got mad and rebellious. Or discovered weed.

_Say what you want about Nick being a troublemaker, but he keeps his damn word._ Tori taps a few notes of a melody onto the notepad, then starts writing.

 

* * *

 

After a couple of days, the Bat-Signal starts to get wispy, so Nick and Jeff drive up with new batteries. Something blue flutters near the corner of the signal - it’s been taped onto the base - and Nick sticks the note in his pocket before he switches the old batteries out.

“Bro, call the FBI,” Nick says as he takes a piece of matching paper out of his bag. “We’re gonna head to my dad’s place.”

“Is that from your _dad?_ ” Jeff asks.

“I told you he felt bad about me fucking things up.” Nick wedges the Bat Signal tighter into the crook of a branch. The note’s top quarter reads _‘Answer at my house,’_ and he unfolds it:

_Why did you get a restraining order?_

 

* * *

 

“Guys?” Prentiss calls them into the room after she gets Jeff’s text. “The Bat-Signal _worked_.”

“Whoever’s listening: Please don’t let Jack be like this,” Hotch tells the ceiling. “Drugs and sex are _sort of_ normal, but playing tag with former FBI relatives is my limit.”

“It’s a good thing you’ll never go rogue, Hotch,” Rossi congratulates him. “Are we using civilian cars or official?”

“Civilian, but take some Kevlar just in case,” Prentiss informs them. “Spyke himself isn’t violent unless he needs to be, but he works with some pretty lively people.”

 

* * *

 

Tori Grayson’s house is locked and dark - but nobody expected a fancy welcome. The two other cars arrive and park quietly a few houses down.

“We’ll be right here, so if anything happens, just yell for us and run,” Hotch says.

“No problem - _dude!_ ” Jeff latches around Nick’s torso and drags him away from the backyard fence. “You have the key!” He hisses. “Just unlock the door!”

“That’s how I accidentally found Blaine’s stalker,” Nick says. “If Dad’s even here, you think he’s stupid enough to not have a plan?”

_“Morgan,”_ Hotch sighs. “Standby on the front door. I’ll go with Nick and Jeff.”

“Got it, Hotch.” Morgan has a fit of suspicious coughing.

 

* * *

 

“Dad?” Nick comes in through the window - the lights are out and nothing is unusual.

Well, almost nothing.

When he gets to the front hallway, there’s a bat drawn in black chalk on the right wall. Another bat is on the door to Nick’s room, along with the words _‘camera inside.’_

“I told you he wasn’t dumb enough to be here,” Nick whispers to the others. “All I have to do is talk to the damn camera.”

“Not taking any chances,” Hotch tells them, and puts his earphone in. “Garcia?”

_“Yeah, Hotch?”_

“Nick says there’s a camera in his room, so there’s probably a computer or some kind of line attached to it. Nick, we’re not -”

He’s already gone inside, with the click of the door and Jeff’s face-palm answering Hotch.

“We’re… not going in with Nick because that might blow our cover,” Hotch finishes. “Try to find anything coming from this house.”

_“This is the most superhero sting ever,”_ Garcia affirms. _“I bet he’s actually inside and we’re not gonna find out for five minutes.”_

“Garcia, this isn’t a comic book.”

 

* * *

 

Tori’s inside. Sitting at the desk, almost looking normal if it weren’t for the fact that no lights are on and everything’s gray-blue from the moon. Tori’s hair doesn’t look right: Nick squints and realizes that it’s a dark, flat brown instead of red.

“Why is your hair boring?” Nick wonders.

He writes on the notepad and holds it up: _Disguise._

Then a new statement: _If you just wanted to hang out with your friends more, I would have gotten you a car or something._

“One friend,” Nick corrects. “Jeff.”

_Nick, it’s normal to want to spend time with your friends instead of your parents. That doesn’t need a restraining order._ But he doesn’t hold it up yet, because he remembers the disastrously funny weekend after Nick told his mother he was bi, and how Nick’s living with his aunt instead of his mother now…

“I - I figured you’d get weird about me spending all that fucking time with Jeff, and restraining orders are just a piece of paper. We barely pay attention to it anymore, but -”

Oh god, Nick. Please don’t finish this story. All the little pieces are falling into place -

“- had to transfer because some douchebags beat him up after a dance, and Kurt transferred when people said they’d kill him,” Nick goes on. “You guys know the shit with Mom when I came out? I lit up in the house and she told me if I left, I couldn’t come back. Sure, I pissed her off, but she didn’t do that the other times I was being stupid -”

He has to move. He has to move or say something so he can give his son a damn hug. But there are people on the other side of the door, and then he’ll only have fifteen seconds instead of thirty to get away.

_“Nick.”_ There’s ten seconds before someone breaks down the door, so he holds tighter. “You thought I'd kick you out?”

“Kicking me out is no fucking deal! I moved in with Aunt Bea!” Nick presses his face into Tori’s shoulder. “I didn’t want you to send me to a straight camp or drag me to Iowa to kill off the gay half of bisexual, so I got the damn restraining order _because of Jeff!_ ”

The door’s kicked in.

“Spyke?” Hotch’s hands are up. “Let him go. We don’t want to hurt either of you.”

“You didn’t bring backup.”

“We didn’t think you’d be here,” Hotch admits. “Now let him go.”

Good. Now he has _twenty_ seconds to get out the window, under the fence’s loose board, and then to the back alley with Alex.

“Nick, I love you,” Tori says, but that only makes him cry harder. “You know that, right?”

_“I got the restraining order on THE WRONG FUCKING PARENT?!”_

“You thought you needed one.” Tori lets Nick go. “You thought you needed one because you didn’t know how I’d react, and _that - is - okay! You hear me, Nick?_ ”

_“MOTHERFUCKING BITCH!”_

“MORGAN!” Hotch yells over the windowpane slamming back down. “BACKYARD!”

By the time Morgan’s jumped the fence to see Spyke barreling through a loose board in the fence, he has to waste a precious five seconds getting back over.

Prentiss instinctively goes straight towards the neighbor’s open yard, and she barely catches Spyke slipping sideways into the back alley. When she switches course for the alley herself, he’s already in the car.

There are no license plates.

 

* * *

 

Technically this will be classified as “unexpected,” since the BAU wasn’t as prepared as a rogue FBI agent who’s spent the past few years channeling Batman. In extremely literal ways.

But in the hour before the BAU checks in with the Westerville police, while the rogue’s teenaged son is crying rage-tears in the backseat, it’s hard to think about putting Spyke in jail.

Hotch waves to Prentiss and Morgan when they come back empty-handed and panting. “I’ll take these two home. Jeff, try to calm him down.”

Jeff clips into the backseat. “Nick? You got the restraining order because of me?”

“That’s not calming him down -”

“You, my aunt, and my uncle, yeah.” Nick wipes his face. “Kicking me out, that’s one thing, but I couldn’t do shit about moving too far until I turned eighteen, got a job, and ditched the job for a plane ticket back to Aunt Bea’s house. And now I got the restraining order on the _wrong fucking parent,_ goddamn it!”

He tries to strangle the passenger’s seat then, so Jeff does double-duty of hugging him and keeping him restrained. They can’t get anything else from him on the ride home.

 

* * *

 

“Well, nobody even thought he’d _be_ there,” Reid says. “That was needlessly risky, even considering he planned an escape route. What did he talk to Nick about?”

“All he asked was why Nick got the restraining order on him,” Hotch says. “Nothing about Alex or Blaine. Or if there was anyone else around. He wasn’t that surprised that I kicked in the door, but still - he knew we didn’t have backup.”

“Did Nick answer?”

“He was afraid of coming out.” Hotch rubs his temples. “With how two of his friends were treated for being openly gay and Nick’s mom kicking him out later on, he had a lot of good reasons to think his dad wouldn’t take it well.”

“And send him to straight camp,” Prentiss says with a sympathetic nod.

“Straight camp, or force him to move away from a lot of important people in his life.”

“He didn’t need the restraining order, did he?” Morgan asks.

They really should throw the book at Spyke. That’s the lawful thing to do.

“Team? Just because Tori loves his son doesn’t mean he’s _not still a criminal,_ ” Hotch reminds them. “We have to find him. He’s sheltering a kidnapper that someone _else_ broke out of jail.”

“Shit’s gonna be hard, though,” Morgan retorts, grinning. “He knew we didn’t think he’d come, so he did just to trip us up.”

“It’s going to be even harder if we don’t get a full _eight to ten hours of sleep_ ,” JJ adds. “This night was a pretty wild ride.”

“Guys, this isn’t a comic book,” Hotch says, though he can’t control a corner of his mouth. “Spyke’s not chuckling in the next panel and predicting our movements.”

“Nightwing used the Bat-Signal,” Rossi reminds him.

“Yes?”

“And it _worked._ ”

“…Yes.”


End file.
